


Of Secret Vices

by muse51



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Murder Mystery, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 12:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15143189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muse51/pseuds/muse51
Summary: Move aside Holmes, Poirot and Marple! Snape and Granger are on the case. They attend a no-magic, muggle mystery event in convincing disguises with neither knowing the other is there. Can they find all the clues and solve the mystery before time is up? Or will their growing mutual attraction prove too distracting? Just who will figure out the other's identity first? This is mystery first, romance second, so get your notebooks out.





	1. An Unusual Pastime

Secrets, secrets, secrets everyone has at least one. A secret so valuable that they hug it to their breasts admitting to it only in privacy and anonymity. A secret so pleasurable that it becomes a vice, a craving so bottomless that the keeper willingly submits to anything so as to satisfy the want again and again. Severus Snape had such a secret. A secret that he would discover was shared in equal measure by an unlikely accomplice - Hermione Granger, St. Mungo's chief psychologist. This is a story of how that discovery came to be and what came of it.

Let's start at the beginning. A post office in the vast metropolis of London in which a nondescript post box sat mostly empty and rarely visited. Number 696 did not command a very high position in the racks nor was it marked by anything of quality. It was just a box. But once a year, this commonplace box became the most important thing in Professor Snape's life. Nothing, perhaps not even death, would stop him from picking up his mail once a year sometime in the first week of June.

Close to the post office on a cobblestone street was a row of picturesque brick townhouses. These were homes of people who weren't "old money" but who had disposable income and no scruples about spending it. House number 333 belonged to one Severus Snape. After he picked up his mail, he would habitually retreat here and read all his mail in one sitting. Compulsive behavior, yes, but he wasn't harming anyone, was he? Secrets often made one compulsive. That was part of their charm. No one else in the wizarding world knew about the box or the house. He preferred it that way. He kept it that way.

Climbing the stairs two at a time, he dropped the mail on to his bed right next to his suitcase. After a quick shower, he went downstairs to get a bottle of wine and some late dinner. With a glass of wine on the beside table and, blissfully relaxed in black silk pajamas, he stretched out on the bed like a big satisfied cat. He opened the letter.

It was addressed to "S. Snape" from Mystery Event Planners, Inc.

Inside it said:

Scene of the crime: Hotel Victoria-Newquay in Newquay, Cornwall

Arrival date: Please arrive June 13 or June 14

Participants: 12 ( a full roster of characters is enclosed for your reference )

Character: David Wright. Please see the enclosed biography and arrive in character. Respond to questions as your character would.

Notes: You will have one week ( 7 days ) to solve the mystery and uncover the guilty.

Snape studied the biography of the person he was to pretend to be. A reasonably successful middle- aged barrister by vocation and a playboy by inclination. Personality traits included thrill seeker mentality known for trying anything at least once. Numerous relationships and affairs but had never been engaged or married. Hobbies included horseback riding, wine tasting and coin collecting.

Snape laid back and imagined what David Wright would be like and how he would behave. He would have to buy some new clothes, research coin collecting and ponder a change in appearance. He had a few days before he was due to arrive at the Hotel Victoria. There was time enough to plan and transform himself into David Wright, barrister and playboy.

As with other mystery events he had attended in the past, he would use no magic during the event. It added to the novelty of the experience.

* * *

Hermione Granger looked at the envelope sitting on her dining room table as if it was a howler left unattended for far too long. She fingered the distinctive magnifying glass logo next to the name Mystery Event Planners, Inc. What could it hurt? She had promised her parents after all. This was their birthday gift to her when she had turned twenty-three. Feeling that she had nothing to lose, she opened it.

Scene of the crime: Hotel Victoria-Newquay in Newquay, Cornwall

Arrival date: Please arrive June 13 or June 14

Participants: 12 ( a full roster of characters is enclosed for your reference )

Character: Diana Stevens. Please see the enclosed biography and arrive in character. Respond to questions as your character would.

Notes: You will have one week ( 7 days ) to solve the mystery and uncover the guilty.

Hermione studied the biography carefully. Her character was a mid-twenties fashion designer struggling to establish her own business and design line. She was also single but with a steady boyfriend and many friends. Personality traits included outgoing personality with a flirtatious nature that disguised a killer business instinct and her hobbies were dancing and mountain biking.

Hermione browsed through the rest of the participant's packet. The pictures of the hotel and grounds were certainly enticing. She had to admit that the event appealed strongly to the closet mystery reader in her. Only her parents knew about her affinity for mysteries and detective crime novels.

This was one aspect of her life that she kept under lock and key. Never in all her years at Hogwarts did she let on that few things got her more excited than a good whodunit. Her innate curiosity and thoroughness had been neatly pressed into service doing library research. _Of course, fictional mysteries pale in comparison to my adventures with the boys._

She read the letter several times while deciding on whether she ought to go or not. Her superior had been obliquely reminding her of all her accumulated vacation days going so far as threatening suspension if she didn't take a vacation soon. She supposed that solving a pretend crime could prove to be mildly diverting. If not, she could always read in between walks on the beach and sightseeing. What harm could a few days of rest and relaxation do? She might as well and give it a try.

Her phone rang just then. It was her mother calling to see if Hermione was up for a quick shopping trip. Hermione agreed and she left to pick up her mother.

Driving along, her mind centered on the mystery. At least she had as equal a chance as 11 other people to solve the mystery. _Besides, it's not like anyone would ever find out let alone believe it._

She would make sure that no one ever found out about this little escapade. Dr. Hermione Granger was a no-nonsense straight arrow whose life revolved around her patients while managing to keep her dual muggle and wizarding lifestyles firmly balanced. Diana Stevens was a different story.

She imagined who and what Diana Stevens might be like, how she would talk, her body language, her likes, her dislikes even what kind of boyfriend she may have. Tall, dark, not necessarily gorgeous, but smart and witty, a gentlemen of the old school. No, that's my ideal fantasy boyfriend. Who would Diana fall for?

What makes you think that Diana is in love, commented her inner voice. It was a voice that she habitually ignored. She replied back. _Well, she couldn't sleep with someone unless there were some feelings involved, could she?_

The voice was adamant. _Leave Hermione out of this will you. You're going to leave Hermione here in London while you enjoy yourself as Diana in Cornwall._

The finality and rightness in that statement erased any doubts she may have had.

* * *

Severus lay asleep on his stomach hugging a pillow to his bare chest. His pajamas rode low over his hips. The sounds of the morning tides slapping against the beachfront intruded gently into his consciousness prodding his mind and body to gradual wakefulness. A satisfied groan came up from his throat and escaped his lips. Momentarily disoriented when first he opened his eyes, he rolled over on to his back and got his bearings. He stretched his arms out, flexed his legs and wiggled his toes.

He felt like a new man. He had rarely slept as well as he did last night. Since Voldemort's defeat, his dreams were less and less horrific but they still happened all too frequently. His inner voice was much too cheery and awake to be ignored. _Let's face it, old man you're at loose ends. Your life is going nowhere. Your work is your life and that's not getting any better or more gratifying at all. Are you going to stay in the doldrums all the rest of your life?_

As he lay there staring at the ceiling remembering that he was at the Hotel Victoria in a well appointed room overlooking the Atlantic ocean, he knew that everything the voice was saying was absolutely right. He was at a crossroads and he didn't know what choices to make or if he even wanted to bother with making a choice.

He looked down on his body. He had filled out. He was not as thin as he had been during the war. The Dark Mark and all the other scars were gone. No beer belly fortunately but the hard muscles were there if one felt about. It was all right, he decided, a mature man's body not like those overly sculpted physiques acquired at the gymnasium. All he had to do was find a woman who'd settle for his average body, accept his mercurial temperament, tolerate his acid tongue, engage in the occasional witty conversation and give him children.

That last thought made him sit up bolt upright. _Where did THAT come from?_

He hadn't thought of any female along those terms in decades. He was perfectly happy and content as he was - bachelor, professor, scholar and a war hero to boot. While he didn't attract women in droves, he had had offers come his way now and again. He had even accepted a few. The little voice piped in commenting that it would be very comforting to have an understanding, soft body to curl up to in a warm, large bed after a trying day teaching a bunch of dunderheads. _Of course, your children would definitely not be dunderheads. They would be Slytherins or maybe Ravenclaws but, no, not a dunderhead in the bunch would there be._

Snape clapped iron manacles and a gag on the little voice as he clambered off the bed. He had a mystery to solve and he could not afford any distracting thoughts of a lovely wife and clever children. _Enough! That's it, no more!_ He shoved the voice all the way to the back of his mind.

Denial is a wonderful invention, so immediate and responsive. The later backlash would be a foregone conclusion and extremely excruciating.

For the past two days he had gotten in the habit of an early morning walk on the beach and surrounding grounds. The views were spectacular but the sunrises put everything else to shame. He hadn't seen a sunset yet but it was on his list of things to do before the week was over. Severus dressed quickly in a gray jogging suit. He made his way through the opulent hallways to the foyer.

On his way to the lift that would take him down to the beach, he passed the front desk and heard a familiar name "Diana Stevens." That name was on his roster. He made a mental note to watch for her at the luncheon later today.

The luncheon would mark the beginning of the mystery event. This was his third mystery event and, if this one held true to the previous two, he knew that he would solve the mystery first granting him enough time to have a little fun. He saw nothing wrong with a small carefree vacation before he returned to Hogwarts and his real life, such as it was.


	2. Restless

The bellhop showed Hermione to a room with a commanding ocean view. The view alone made up for the long flight in from London. The staff had thought of everything. There was hot tea and biscuits waiting for her on the settee.

She looked at her watch. It was only nine in the morning. She had a few hours before the luncheon was due to start. She decided to look over the roster of participants one more time.

Ian Timmons - military officer on holiday

Cynthia McFadden - secretary on holiday

Michael Levinson - architect on holiday

Paul Lewis - businessman on holiday

Amanda Danforth - nurse on holiday

Diana Stevens - fashion designer on holiday

John and Emily Moss - retired schoolteachers on a well deserved holiday

Jack Ironside - accountant on holiday

Adam Claymore - reporter on holiday

David Wright - barrister on holiday

Bruce Macklemore - software programmer on holiday

She took her tea and biscuits to the balcony. Her eyes followed a solitary figure walking on the beach but her mind was on the likely culprits on the list.

Based on her many years of reading mystery novels, her most likely list included the secretary, the accountant and the barrister. Invariably, she reasoned, the guilty parties always knew where all the secrets were buried or had something to hide. A secretary, an accountant and a barrister would be privy to all kinds of information. The less scrupulous would be prone to blackmail or extortion. She'd have to be very observant at the luncheon putting names to faces but still stay in character.

Her concentration was momentarily distracted when she spied the figure on the beach on his knees building a sand castle. _Must be the architect Levinson._

Her tea and biscuit finished, she stood up and went to unpack. One thing would remain in her locked suitcase - her wand. Part of the fun was the challenge of figuring out the whodunnit. Using magic would be cheating. 

* * *

Severus didn't know why he suddenly dropped to his knees and started building a castle. It felt like the right thing to do and the right place to do it in. It was peaceful here. In front of him was the ocean and behind were tall, massive cliffs and on top of those were situated several hotels including the Hotel Victoria.

He compacted the sand into several makeshift towers and in the middle was the bailey. Molding and shaping sand with his bare hands was calming. As he worked, his mind went over the list of participants picking out those most likely to commit a crime whether it be murder, theft of some other kind of mischief. His picks were the nurse, the secretary and the accountant. The fashion designer might be someone's secret mistress. Businessmen always had money problems. A reporter could have information ideal for blackmail. And in this day and age, a programmer could certainly ferret out information and use it in less than savory ways. An architect, well, he would know how to bury bodies, literally. There was always a military officer in the mix. The retired teachers could have any motive under the sun. Without knowing the exact crime, he could only make generalities. He'd pay extra attention at the luncheon.

His castle was finished and he could be excused to think that it was a most hardy castle. It was proportional with towers at each point of a compass. The walls looked tough enough to stand for years.

"A man's home is his castle,” he whispered.

Severus leaned back on his hands and just looked at it imagining what it would be like if it were real and there was activity and laughter about the place. He didn't really have a home. Hogwarts wasn't a true home. It was just a place to put his things. What he wanted was a home, he thought. And someone to share it with, the little voice added.

He laid back on the sand and just stared at the ocean lost in thought. The last few months he had begun to feel a certain restlessness. He could not identify the cause of it. Perhaps, he would take up Albus on his offer of a short sabbatical after the next school term. It was time for a change.


	3. Enter the Detectives

Silver-haired and some would say silver-tongued Spenser McAdoo looked through his luncheon list while twirling his salt and pepper handlebar mustache. It was his one affectation and no matter how ridiculous it was he could not get rid of it. He firmly believed that everyone was entitled to some kind of eccentricity. That was one thing among many things that he had learned running mystery vacations all these years. Everyone was an eccentric most especially those who attended these events. Unlike past events, he noted, this mystery had many more first time participants. Usually, he could count on at least a handful of old hands but not this time around.

"Well, this makes for an interesting pickle, don't it?" he muttered.

"What was that, luv?" asked Patricia Welborn, the hotel's concierge and combination house mother and agony aunt to staff and guests alike. She was inspecting the luncheon tables making sure everything was as it should be. Besides the head table with three chairs there were two circular tables with seven seats apiece.

"Nothin', Patty. There's a wee bit more first timers than usual, is all," McAdoo answered. He would have said more but he saw that Mr. Wright had entered. He could always count on this one to be early, methodical and predictable. He smiled brightly, slipped into genial host mode and extended his hand. "Good to see you, Mr. Wright. How has your stay been?"

"Exemplary, Mr. McAdoo." Wright nodded at McAdoo but saved a charming half smile for the concierge. "Mrs. Welborn runs a fine hotel here."

Mrs. Welborn patted her bun and preened a bit. "T'would that all our guests were as fine as you. I mean ... I mean as agreeable as yourself, Mr. Wright. You've been no trouble at all."

Mr. Wright had made an indelible impression upon the staff. One of the maids had come in early to take care of Mr. Wright's room. Unbeknownst to her at the time, he had been in the shower. She heard him singing the Rolling Stones song _Don't Stop_ at the top of his lungs and made to leave. She was making her way to the door when he stepped out of the bath in the all together toweling his hair dry. Realizing he was not alone in his room, Mr. Wright had covered himself up immediately. He had gone so far as to have a bouquet of flowers delivered to the housekeeping staff in way of apology. Since then, housekeeping was treated to daily fights on who would get his room assignment for the day. It made for some excitement in the staff room.

"Now, Mrs. Welborn, I did ask you to call me David, did I not? For your unforgivable faux pas, I insist that you sit beside me for lunch,” said Wright taking the now flustered woman's hand and kissing it lightly as a gentleman would. "Mr. McAdoo, surely that would be permissible?"

"Certainly, certainly," McAdoo agreed. He watched as Mrs. Welborn showed Wright his seat and promptly moved a placard elsewhere so she could take the seat next to him.

Mr. McAdoo was amazed at the completely in character Mr. Wright. _He must have been practicing since the last event. And what a dramatic change in appearance. The voice is nearly the same if a bit higher pitched than the normal bass._

A movement by the door caught Mr. McAdoo's eye. Another early bird it seems.

If she had been a bird, he thought, she would have been categorized as an exotic bird of paradise. She approached McAdoo with poise and confidence, regal as royalty. The fall of raven black hair accentuated a face of classic English heritage. Luminous green eyes made the vision complete. McAdoo did not mark her as one of his past mystery regulars.

Her voice when he heard it sounded younger than her appearance would suggest but the unmistakable undercurrent of authority under the playful tone made him take notice immediately. "Mr. McAdoo, I presume? I'm Diana Stevens."

"Yes, yes, of course, Ms. Stevens, this is a pleasure, indeed," Up close, he saw that she was not stunningly beautiful but there was something about her that made you notice her whether you wanted to or not. "We'll be starting as soon as all the guests are present. Have you met Mr. Wright?"

"No, not yet. I just arrived this morning," Hermione explained. McAdoo led her towards Mr. Wright and Mrs. Welborn.

McAdoo knew the second Mr. Wright noticed their advance because Mr. Wright did an almost unnoticeable double take. McAdoo imagined that the young man must feel like he had when noticing the graceful young lady for the first time. The aptly descriptive word dumbfounded came to mind. With this kind of a distraction, it may take Mr. Wright more than three days to solve this mystery if at all.

"Mrs. Welborn, Mr. Wright, may I introduce Ms. Stevens," said McAdoo.

Severus stood, shook her hand and moved to pull out the empty chair next to him. Mrs. Welborn indicated that Ms. Stevens was seated at another table per the seating chart. Snape bit back an acid comment about the bloody seating chart. Instead, he stayed standing and looked as attentive as he could.

"Are your rooms to your satisfaction, Ms. Stevens?" asked Mrs. Welborn ever the concierge.

"They're lovely. The views are breathtaking," answered Hermione. "I can't wait to explore the beach a little later."

"I would be happy to join you on your explorations, Ms. Stevens. There is a particularly scenic spot on the far end." Snape offered. He toned down his look to mild but positive interest. It wouldn't do to look too desperate or too fascinated. But he couldn't deny the woman was setting his pulse to racing just by standing there.

If she had been a witch, he thought, she would have looked stunning in Slytherin colors. No wedding or engagement rings, tall, about five seven or five eight with a figure that had curves in the right places or at least the places he preferred and legs that seemed endless. He approved of her attire a business suit over a micro mini and shoes that screamed a subdued yet obvious "Bite Me!" For a fashion designer he had expected something more outlandish but she was dressed very tastefully. It was the way she carried herself that made people take notice, he decided. Severus reasoned that he had to find out more about her. After all she was a probable suspect, mistress or not.

"Thank you, Mr. Wright, was it? Perhaps I shall take you up on it. I'll let you know." Hermione smiled rather prettily. "Mr. McAdoo, could you point me to my seat, please."

Once she was seated, Hermione congratulated herself on her admirable self restraint as her eyes and thoughts drifted to the oh-so-disturbingly delectable Mr. Wright. She had been a hair's breadth from accepting his offer but had pulled back just in time. His height, windswept but well coiffed, short sandy blond hair, soulful brown eyes, aquiline nose, thin sensuous lips, distinguished trimmed beard and very pleasant baritone voice made him hard to ignore. He hovered around forty she would guess. A barrister she remembered and, from the sharp cut of his clothes and the way he carried himself, a successful one. The black pants, black shirt and tan overcoat complemented his lean frame.

He was very attractive for a muggle. The little voice interjected that she had left the wizarding world behind her in London for at least a week give the man a chance already. His mere presence was doing too many things to her peace of mind as it was and he wasn't even her usual type - tall, dark and poetically brooding. _Am I here to solve a mystery or land a man?_

She hummed to herself to drown out the persistent voice that kept insisting she was there for the latter. _Find a live one, put him through his paces then drag the man off to bed letting him come up for air or sustenance every other hour. You only live once after all!_ The detective in her reminded her to pay attention. No matter how drool-worthy Mr. Wright might be, he was still a likely suspect. _The man is a total stranger. Behave yourself!_

Other people started coming in. Some chatted with Mr. McAdoo but most wandered around greeting others while looking for their seats. A tall, athletic, black haired man talking animatedly with Mr. McAdoo caught Hermione's attention. She immediately noticed the expensive camera slung carelessly about one shoulder which only lent credence to his general air of easygoing affluence. There was another man distinctive in his bulk and tartan plaid kilt standing by Mr. Camera. Her gaze swept across the room. A hard-faced woman came to sit at her table. She was of medium height with light brown hair and dark eyes. She introduced herself as Ms. Cynthia McFadden. Despite several attempts at conversation, Hermione found that Ms. McFadden was either not naturally talkative or just was not in the mood for idle chit chat. Mrs.. Welborn was chatting up the American couple John and Emily Moss and the architect Michael Levinson.

On the other side of the room, Severus was having a problem commonly known in bachelor parlance as "the clinging vine." Ms. Amanda Danforth had arrived and attached herself to Snape's arm draping herself all over him whenever an excuse presented itself. The blonde was attractive enough in a brittle sort of way. Her beauty was bought at the cost of several pounds of cosmetics, he estimated. Her figure was encased, that really was the best word for it, in a one-piece sheath dress which was at least one size too small for her and, worse, its unflattering color made her skin look washed out.

Severus half dragged Ms. Danforth to her seat which was thankfully far opposite his own. Her outfit he could forgive. Her badly done attempts at being a wanton he found amusing. But her voice was his undoing. It was whispery soft, breathy and childlike with a tendency towards squeakiness. A few minutes of hearing that and he was more than ready to throw her off a cliff.

"Mr. Levinson, may I introduce you to the delightful Ms. Danforth," Snape very deliberately removed Ms. Danforth's claw from his arm and placed it on her lap.

"Oh, you're the architect. Can I call you Michael? No need to be formal surely," cooed Ms. Danforth.

The object of her attention Mr. Levinson fidgeted in his seat. He was of medium, wiry build and his receding hairline contrasted with his boyish countenance. His blue eyes were merry and mischievous. But he seemed to share Ms. Danforth's horridly out of place fashion sense. He was dressed in scuffed brown cowboy boots, faded blue jeans, a white oxford in need of a pressing, a garish orange and blue tie and topped by a crisp blue blazer.

"Call me Mike, miss," Mr. Levinson said with a hint of a Cockney accent. "Nice place here. Have you ..."

Mr. McAdoo had a problem himself. One known in event planner circles as "the mouth." Mr. Jack Ironside would not stop talking about the photos he had taken of the area, how perfect the natural light was or how he was planning to tour the nearby Eden Project.

Mr. McAdoo bided his time until Ironside had to take a breath and plunged in with "Now, Mr. Ironside, Mr. Macklemore let me show you to your seats, shall I?"

Hermione found Mr. Camera/Ironside seated on her left with Mr. Highlander/Macklemore seated to Ms. McFadden's right across the table. She and Ironside had immediately gotten on and started a conversation about photography. Physically attractive but she took him off her potential man list as she perceived that he was a homosexual. Across the table, Macklemore was having better luck coaxing some idle chit chat from Ms. McFadden. They were sitting there joking and at ease with each other. In fact, Hermione could have sworn she'd heard a feminine giggle or two from the taciturn Ms. McFadden.

"I've always wanted to tour Scotland. But I never get around to it," said Cynthia warming up to the jovial Bruce Macklemore.

"Well, seeing as you've said you're a horsewoman, ya musta come to the Selkirk annual Common Ground festival." said Macklemore his brogue thick and soothing to the ears. "Tis a fine display of horsemanship and the festivities go on fer a few days. Yeh really must come."

Hermione felt more than saw the chair to her right acquire an occupant. She glanced over to see a tall, spare man with military cut red hair and attire all in black take the seat. She said with a smile "Mr. Timmons, I presume."

"You presume right, Ms. Stevens. I saw Mrs. Welborn putting together the seating chart yesterday," said Mr. Timmons charmingly. "I traded seats with Claymore here."

He gestured to another man, Adam Claymore, seated to his left who was scanning the room. Timmons clapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. "Hey, Claymore, may I introduce the lovely Ms. Stevens."

Claymore turned his attention and Hermione was treated to an angelic face - intense blue eyes, wavy dark blond hair, firm jaw, full lips and a nose that was strong without overwhelming the rest of his face. "Ms. Stevens, a pleasure. I don't have Timmons’ memory of the seating chart. Quite a group here. Please call me Adam."

Please, please call me pleaded Hermione inner's voice. _Was it ever a good idea to come here!_ Two definite entries in her man list and it was only the first day. She tore her eyes away from his face and looked at the rest of the impressive Mr. Claymore. He had on shiny shoes, black pants and a chambray blue shirt unbuttoned at the collar that showed off his blond hair and blue eyes. Her detective voice spoiled her fun though by reminding her that he was probably a red herring meant to act as a distraction.

Joining McAdoo at the head table were two other men. One was quite young probably in his mid twenties in a conventional gray suit with a name badge identifying him as a Mystery Events Inc employee. The other gentlemen was older and very distinguished. He did not have a name badge but his clothes marked him as well to do.

Mr. McAdoo stood up at the head table and made his usual announcement. "While we enjoy this fine luncheon, Oswald Dunvey, my assistant will be passing out your mystery packets around dessert time. Please read it. After lunch we will be going by bus to Marazion then by ferry to the scene of the crime - the island of St. Michael's Mount. Our guest speaker is the owner of the Mount, Sir Anthony Renville, and he will be giving us a brief talk about his home's history during dessert. In the meantime, let's eat and get to know one another."

As dessert was being served, their guest speaker began to speak. "When I was approached to host this event, I was thrilled. My wife Portia and myself are avid mystery fans."

"Let me tell you about St. Michael's Mount. St. Michael's Mount has been a pilgrim's shrine, a Benedictine priory, a trading post, a military garrison and finally a home to my wife's family for several generations. The castle was built in 1135 as a daughter house of Mont St. Michel in Normandy by Abbot Bernard Le Bec under a charter issued by Edward the Confessor. But earlier than that about 350 BC the island itself was home to traders and sea faring merchants who used the island as a natural harbor for their ships sailing away laden with Cornish tin and copper. The Romans routed the merchants and the island was abandoned to hermits and the wilderness."

"In 495 AD a group of fishermen of the island spoke of seeing an apparition of St. Michael standing high on the cliff arms outstretched or walking on the waters of the bay. The island then became a site for medieval pilgrimages. The abbey was built thereafter. In the 15th century, the monks of St. Michael's Mount were forced to end their association with Mont St Michel by Henry the Eight who annexed the island for his own. During the years of war between England, Spain and France the island garrisoned troops and English ships docked there in safety. It last saw military action in 1646 during the English Civil War when it was taken over by the Royalists who were routed by the Parliamentarians."

"Milton immortalized the Mount in his poem Lycidas about a friend who drowned on a trip from Chester to Cornwall while sailing on the Irish seas. In the poem, he referred to the Mount as "the great vision of the guarded mount." And the Mount has not escaped the fancies of folklore. A story is told that the island was built by a giant named Cormoran. This giant would come ashore and steal the settlement's cattle and sheep. Fed up, a boy named Jack rowed to the island and in the cover of night dug a deep pit. At dawn, the boy blew his horn awakening the grumpy giant who lumbered half asleep down the hillside falling to his death into the pit. The rhyme goes ‘Here's the valiant Cornishman who slew the Giant Cormoran.’ There is today a large well by the walkway leading to the castle which is supposed to mark the location of Jack's pit."

"Thank you to Mr. McAdoo and Mystery Event Planners for letting me participate. I welcome you to my home and I will be most delighted to act as your tour guide on the ferry."

The buzz of conversation was replaced by silent mutterings and whispers as the "detectives" were given their packets. These packets were quickly unwrapped and all got to the business of reading up on the Mount and the area of Cornwall.

No one knew what the crime was. They would find that out later today. But one thing was certain, the culprit or culprits was in attendance at the luncheon. But who was it?


	4. Knowing Attraction

Severus Snape patted his pockets checking to make sure he had his usual kit - Swiss multi knife, mini flashlight, small memo book, a pen, two zip lock bag, a handkerchief and a roll of Lifesavers. Sitting at the very back of the bus he placed names to faces having inquired of Mrs. Welborn of every occupant of the other table during lunch.

Ms. Danforth was now chatting up Mr. Ironside. It looked very much like a one-sided conversation as Ironside kept fiddling with his camera. He took a picture now and again of the passing scenery. The Moss', Ms. McFadden and Mr. Macklemore were engaged in a game of what sounded like Go Fish. Mr. Claymore was reading his packet intently. Mr. McAdoo and SirAnthony Renville were at the head of the bus.

His own seat mate, Mr. Lewis, was snoring lightly. Lewis had barely made the bus pulling into the hotel entrance as the bus was loading. Mr. McAdoo had wordlessly handed him his packet. He had then said a cordial hello to everyone and promptly went to sleep with his head propped against the window.

Ms. Stevens was holding court near the front with Mr. Timmons and Mr. Levinson in close attendance. Severus had decided to keep his distance from her despite the howling protests of his predatory instincts. Instincts that even now urged him to fling Levinson and Timmons off the bus and take his rightful position by her side. _Or with her on my lap and the two of us getting to a bit of nuzzling and petting._ He shook his head noting that this was not the time nor place to behave like a hormonal teenager. A little voice reminded him that he'd had precious little time to be a hormonal teenager when he was a teenager. _What was wrong with being one now with a bit of flirting and casual fun?_ Obviously the mental gag and muzzle were not working. He shook his head once more and concentrated on his information packet. He half listened to the conversations swirling around as he jotted down notes.

" - smugglers. Look here, it says there are still hidden caches on the island. Imagine that."

"Does your boyfriend treat you the way you want to be treated, Diana?"

"Go fish! By the way has anyone brought an umbrella? It looks like a bad storm is on the way."

"Look, I'm really not interested. Look elsewhere, will you?"

"This is all so frightfully exciting!"

“… wonder if the gardens will be open for viewing. There are some varieties that only grow here, you know."

Hermione kept her face interested but inside she was quite bored. Timmons had seemingly glued himself to her side after lunch. He was attractive enough but his obvious interest was becoming a turn off. Mr. Levinson had followed Timmons' lead and was interjecting his own brand of charm when and where he could. Her inner voice admonished her stridently. Y _ou're too demanding. You want passable good looks, superior intelligence, sparkling witty repartee, super sex, fantastic conversation, strength of character and alluring mystery. Get real. That package doesn't exist except in books and fantasies. You have two men chasing you now why not let one or both catch you? You only have a few days to enjoy yourself before you go back to St. Whatsisname._ She squashed the voice down adding that she just wasn't in the mood and it was St. Mungo's.

Her eyes drifted to one of the men who could potentially put her in the right mood. The sparks of attraction were instant and, if she was reading him correctly, mutual. There was no mistaking her body's reaction. It had been a long time since her pulse rate had beat in that particularly rousing rhythm. Seventh year at Hogwarts to be exact. She hadn't done anything about it then thinking that it was a mere passing infatuation. Now that she was older she knew all the signs from passing interest to serious consideration to undeniable attraction. Timmons had no hope of getting out of the passing interest category. Mr. Wright had long passed serious consideration and was cozily settled into undeniable attraction. She could see that he was absorbed in the mystery as he studiously wrote in his notebook while consulting his information packet. She chided herself for not doing the same thing instead of entertaining the earnest Mr. Levinson and the now tiresome Mr. Timmons.

She took her time studying Mr. Wright while murmuring a positive monosyllable now and then to encourage her gentlemen along. Mr. Wright's brows were furrowed in deep concentration and he would occasionally arch an eyebrow when he got to an interesting part. The first time she spied that eyebrow arch a prickle of old delicious memory made the hair on her skin stand on end. A prickle that triggered chill but soon turned to heat. That arch was so disturbingly familiar.

At that moment, Mr. Ironside stood up suddenly and switched to the other side of the bus adroitly adjusting his camera. Everyone else looked up from whatever they were doing to see what had caught their fellow sleuth's attention. His obvious target was the incongruous sight of some windsurfers gliding along on the bay.

Sir Anthony said, "This part of the coast is particularly attractive to water sports what with the strong and opposing tide patterns and the wind is quite extraordinary I hear. Windsurfing is a fairly recent diversion."

There were three windsurfers bobbing and weaving in the water exchanging places. Their colorful sails stood out attracting the eye like beacons in the blue sea.

"Where do they launch from?" asked Mr. Timmons.

"I assume that most of them start and end at Marazion or one of the many sailing clubs in Penzance. In fact they offer rentals there and you can sail right into the Mount's harbor."

"Seems like a fantastic mode of travel," commented Claymore looking up from the packet and leaning against the window to take in the windsurfers himself. His blue eyes were alight with pleasure.

"Yes, it does seem to be getting more and more popular,” said Sir Anthony. "Some of the international sports clubs have local chapters at Marazion."

"Definitely a sport for the young." Said John Moss. "I'll stick with actual boats, thank you. Those boards look very flimsy to me."

"Yes, you can do so much more with a boat," added Emily Moss.

"I never had the guts to try surfing but windsurfing seems more manageable," said Levinson to Hermione squinting at the surfers. "I might try that out on my next vacation."

Up ahead of them they could see the center section of Marazion coming into view. The mystery hunters roused themselves and began to gather their gear. The bus lumbered past the village square. It finally stopped in front of the Chymorvah Hotel. The hotel was situated just above the beach with St. Michael's Mount dramatically rising from the bay in the background.

"We'll be stopping here for some tea and refreshments before we head on to the Mount,” Said Mr. McAdoo. "Oswald, check on the ferry, please."

"Right away, Mr. McAdoo,” Oswald replied.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we will be leaving here in about 30 minutes and board the next ferry to the Mount." Said Mr. McAdoo as he lead them into the Chymorvah's side garden past blooming rose bushes and other flowers. Mr. McAdoo shook hands with a waiting brown-haired, stocky gentleman. "Mr. Martin here is the manager. Mr. Martin, thank you for having us today."

"Simply a delight to have your group here today, Mr. McAdoo. A delight. Everyone, everyone, we have tea and sandwiches ready and waiting." Mr. Martin gestured everyone to take whatever tables they desired. "Rest or stroll and enjoy the view. Mr. Handy is down that path there."

As his charges scattered, Mr. McAdoo raised his hands and his voice for attention. "Please, no wandering off now! We're on a very strict schedule. The ferry'll take about 5 minutes to get to the Mount. We'll be spending no more than 2 hours there. I regret we canna stay longer but you can always come back for a longer visit later on. We will then be leaving the Mount on the last ferry at 5pm."

"Why don't we just walk across now? I can see the causeway from here." Adam Claymore added, "It doesn't look too far across."

"After that ride I could use a long stretch myself." said Mr. Lewis looking completely awake and alert. He too was looking closely at the granite causeway curving its way to the island about five hundred yards offshore..

Mr. McAdoo replied, “Well, it is low tide right now but walking across would take an additional fifteen minutes. As I said we're on a tight schedule."

"Mr. McAdoo, I have a question,” said John Moss.

"Is it very urgent, Mr. Moss? I've some details to attend to. Perhaps, Oswald can help you when he returns."

"It's not urgent. I'll catch up with you on the boat." Moss replied. He returned to conversation with his wife and Mr. Martin.

Macklemore and Timmons shared a table chatting about their favorite soccer teams and their prospects. Lewis sat by himself intently reading his packet while inhaling his tea. Ms. Danforth was hanging on to Claymore's every word at their table. Ironside was rabidly snapping pictures of St. Michaels' Mount as well as obliging some of the others who wanted souvenir pictures of them and the island view. Levinson and Ms. McFadden talked casually while standing by the serving table. Ms. Stevens and Mr. Wright were absent from the rest.

Hermione took her tea and sandwich and made her way quickly out of sight of either Mr. Timmons or Mr. Levinson. She made her way down a few steps on to the sandy beach. With no small relief, she set her tea, sandwich and tote bag down. She slipped off her heeled pumps and rummaged in her tote bag for her flats. She set the flats aside for later. She sat down enjoying her tea and pondering their island destination.

A faraway sound carried to her ears. It was a voice that resonated rich and deep, intimate as a caress. Every word was a balm to her romance-starved soul. "Are you a vision tantalizing and brief? Or are you the longings of my heart made real?"

Hermione turned her face towards the sound. A figure, a decidedly male figure, was making his way towards her. She realized it was Mr. Wright walking over the sands towards her. Severus had gone looking for a quiet spot but saw Ms. Stevens instead. Inexplicably, he was drawn to her.

He stopped a few meters from her and looked at her intently. "Will the goddess grace her supplicant with a reply? Shall I approach or depart?"

Hermione squinted against the sun glaring behind Mr. Wright. "Are your intentions honorable?"

"What if they are?" He took a few steps towards her.

"Then depart, kind sir, for I want no part of you or yours." Was it her imagination or did his voice sound deeper than before?

"How much would I profit were I less than honorable?" Severus knelt before her.

_Time to separate the men from the boys._ Hermione looked him straight in the eye. "Profit is as profit does and only if you consider the prize worth the pursuit."

Severus reclined on his side next to her. He reached into his blazer and pulled out a single freshly plucked rose. He held it out to her hand stretched palm down with the rose between his second and third fingers. "Then consider this my first offering."

Hermione hesitated for a moment but only for a moment. She laid her left hand on his hand while taking the rose gently with the other. “You are so very good. Very smooth I should say.” She said with a knowing smile.

"You're none too shabby at this yourself." He grinned. He eyes roved over her face memorizing the delight in her the eyes and the sweet seduction of her smile.

"I thought you'd given up on me? It seemed Ms. Danforth had you staked out for herself."

"There are some things that one does not walk away from. Then on the opposite and extreme end of the spectrum is Ms. Danforth. One runs far, far away and with ... alacrity." He said the words so deadpan that she couldn't stop herself from laughing out loud.

"She’s very attractive, pretty even." Hermione cursed herself inwardly for seeming to be so desperate for a compliment. Hermione reclined on to her back with her tote bag performing double duty as a makeshift pillow.

Severus made up his mind to press his advantage. Who knew when he could get her alone again? He looked at her from head to toe. Her white blouse was demurely cut. Her long, dark figure hugging skirt came to her knees leaving her shapely calves exposed. He found her feet inexplicably adorable. "I prefer a complete woman."

"A complete woman?" She asked smelling the rose and fingering the petals.

Severus leaned closer to her curling a silky black strand around his finger. He pitched his voice low whispering to her alone. "A woman is complete to me because of all the things she is - her emotions, thoughts, intelligence, humor, grace, beauty. All of those things make her complete."

His very nearness was causing havoc with her breathing. She fought to breathe normally. Despite the cooling wind, she was growing warmer and warmer. He was so close now with only a few inches separating them. The scent of his aftershave mixed in with the scent of the rose in her hand. She was afraid to turn her head and look into his eyes. What would she see? What would happen if they got closer? Would she burst into flames? Her voice was shaky when she said, "Have you ever found a ... a complete woman?"

Before Severus could reply someone shouted out to them to gather at the ferry immediately. Severus sighed and said, "I'll tell you later."

He rose and extended his hand to help her up. Still holding on to his hand for balance, she put on her flats. Together they walked the down the beach to the ferry landing. Neither of them said a word.

* * *

The waters were calm and the ride across was smooth and quick. The chatter among their group increased the closer they got to the island. The ferry docked at the harbor. Sir Anthony led them up an uneven winding cobblestone walkway up to the castle entrance. Along the way he pointed out the restaurant, cafes and shops lining the harbor as well as Jack's well. Hermione peered down the well. It wasn't deep maybe two and a half meters to the bottom. It now served as a wishing well. Numerous coins glittered on its sandy bottom. She hurried to catch up with the others.

They were met at the castle's front hall by the lady of the house Lady Portia Renville. She and her husband led the group through a full tour. Each room was decorated and furnished in the style of different periods. In the library, Sir Anthony exhibited the original charter signed by Edward the Confessor framed and hanging above the mantel. It was impressively old about two meters long and two and half meters wide. Next stop was the Chevy Chase room so named after the hunting scenes on the plaster frieze. Banners with various coats of arms hung from the wood beams crossing the ceiling.

The last stop was the roof terrace. The terrace offered the second best reason to come to the island - the spectacular views of the bay, Marazion and the rugged English coastline. Cannons lined the parapets. Severus looked down one side. The sea lapped gently against the cliff side. In the opposite direction lay the harbor. To his right Marazion loomed in the horizon. To his left was the open sea.

Mr. McAdoo motioned for everyone's attention. "The tour is now concluded. It is now close to 4pm. We will meet down by the ferry dock at 4:45 and the ferry will leave at exactly 5pm. In the meantime, please enjoy and continue the tour on your own. I should also let you know that a crime will occur somewhere in this very castle sometime from now until we leave."

That last statement caused a murmur of astonishment among the assembled as one looked at the other and wondered. The mystery was on!


	5. Musical Rooms

Sir Anthony Renville had been in the military, served in Parliament and even ran with the bulls in Pamplona. He had survived his wedding, every single one of his anniversaries, the birth of his children and the Labor Party. However, no distraction, be it remaking his tie or picking at imaginary lint, could hold at bay his growing dread and dismay. He awoke this day to realize that he was faced with his newest and most formidable foe - stage fright.

"How did you ever talk me into this, Portia? This is ridiculous, all of it." Sir Anthony paced from the window to the fireplace and back again. "I am not a professional actor. What if I blow myself up?"

"I'll still love you, darling, no matter what." Portia sat on the sofa reading the "mystery script" for the umpteenth time. She and her husband both had parts to play. Though her husband was decidedly tense, she had every intention of being relaxed and enjoying it all to the hilt. "Darling, you'll do fine. Just pretend you're giving a speech."

"Speech! Speech! This is no laughing matter, Portia. Timing is absolutely critical." Sir Anthony looked down at this shoes inspecting for any scuffs. The shoes had been polished yesterday within an inch of their lives and no scuff would dare to mar their surface now.

"Darling, you have perfect timing in everything you do. I'll swear to it if you want." Portia was writing herself some reminders on a small index card. She could hardly carry the script on her person what with all the running around expected later on. She thought the whole mystery event was quite intriguing and even envied the participants a tiny bit. Oh, well, perhaps next year she could inveigle Anthony to join her on a mystery event. I must put that thought in my journal tonight, she thought to herself.

Sir Anthony strode to his wife, sat down beside her and gallantly kissed her hand. "Thank you, darling, but I don't believe such extreme measures will be necessary."

The study door opened and Oswald poked his head in. "Mr. McAdoo's just started his announcement. It won't be long now. Are you both ready?”

"Yes, yes, of course." Lady Portia squeezed her nervous swain's hand. Her butterflies were beginning to make their presence felt.

Sir Anthony added, "We both are, Oswald."

"Very good. Just wait for my knock then. If everything is going according to plan, it will be three short knocks then a pause then another knock."

"And if things go badly and it's on to Plan B, it will be two knocks,” Lady Renville clarified.

"Yes, that’s the plan.” Oswald closed the door. The Renvilles prepared to take on the roles of their lives.

Oswald came back to the roof terrace and gave Mr. McAdoo a quick nod and a smile. He opened a large envelope and took out several smaller envelopes. As Oswald began distributing envelopes of various colors to each detective, Mr. McAdoo continued. "It is now 4:00pm exactly. Oswald is handing out envelopes to each of you. On each envelope is a location. I would like for all of you to go to your specified location in the next ten minutes."

Envelopes were torn. Expressions ranged from puzzled to calculating. But none would deny the quickening of pulses, the thrill of anticipation nor the subtle yet ever present competitiveness they all felt.

Spencer McAdoo glanced quickly at the more experienced sleuths gauging their reactions. As he had expected, he had caught them off guard. They looked just as startled as the first timers. Very good, McAdoo thought, this should make for some very interesting interactions. "As of right now consider the game afoot and the clock ticking away. Off you go!"

The would-be sleuths scattered.

Hermione lost track of the others as she concentrated on finding her way to the room assigned to her. She had been one of the first to leave the rooftop along with Mr. Ironside, Mr. Wright and Mr. Claymore descending down the broad stairs to the second level. She passed a storeroom on her right and the Blue Room on her left. She kept on straight down the long hallway passing another set of stairs leading down into the first floor. She passed a closed door labeled Study on her right opposite from the library.

She went down a few more meters and reached her destination - the Chevy Chase room. She took stock of the room. The initial tour had been a rushed affair and now she itched to explore. Her eyes traveled from the beamed ceiling and the heraldic pennants hanging from them to the long narrow trestle table in the center of the room. Benches lined each side of the table. She came to note several pieces of paper lying on the table. As usual, she gave in to her innate curiosity.

As Ms. Stevens' gracious form got further and further away from them, both Mr. Wright and Mr. Ironside arrived at the study at nearly the same time. The two men had fairly raced each other from the roof terrace. They had not run but they had not walked either. Each eyed the other along the way waiting for the other man to veer off and head in a different direction but both were sorely disappointed. They stood facing each other in front of the closed door to the Study.

"After you, Mr. Wright,” said Mr. Ironside.

"No, no, after you. You did get here first,” said Mr. Wright.

"Just by a whisker surely."

"I insist."

Mr. Lewis and Mrs. Moss saw them standing there like two bristling fighting cocks in an arena stare down. As they turned left into the corridor, Mr. Lewis called out to them "Just get on with it you two!"

As the two drifted past, Mrs. Moss called out, "No time for silly contests. We only have until 4:45."

Sheepishly, Mr. Ironside opened the door and Mr. Wright followed him in.

Mr. John Moss had been quite relieved after finding that his room assignment was so close by. He gratefully sat on the sofa in the rococo style Blue Room. The traipsing about the castle had tired him out. While he had enjoyed it, he knew that his wife had enjoyed it more. He put his feet up and laid prone on the sofa closing his eyes for a brief nap. He was soon snoring lightly.

Adam Claymore had left the roof in a tearing hurry close on the heels of Mr. Wright and Mr. Ironside. Besides getting to his location, Claymore had another reason to be quick. He was trying his best to shake Ms. Danforth. Ever since the tea break at the Chymorvah, Ms. Danforth had clung to him like a barnacle to a boat's hull. He had no wish to be rude to the woman but she was not getting the message that he was not interested. There was simply no chemistry or spark between them. In fact, were she less affected in manner and tone than she was, he might have been interested in some measure of companionship. As it was, he simply wanted to be left alone. As he passed the Library on his left and the Study on his right, he could see that he hadn't shaken his shadow. She had just descended the stairs from the roof and accelerating quickly towards him. Could they possibly be heading for the same location?

He turned left into a corridor and immediately saw the Armory on his left. With a grateful sigh he entered and closed the door once again. The door clicked reassuringly. He was rather glad he been assigned this room. He had been fascinated by all the displays during the brief tour earlier. He walked around getting a closer look at the arms hanging on the walls and the various suits of armor standing on pedestals about the room.

Deeper into the room he saw a rolled up London Times left carelessly on the floor. He picked it up and was about to put it in a nearby trash bin when he saw a featured article of a long ago story with a headline that said "Firm Found Guilty in Worker's Death." He took a corner chair as his eyes read on. The lengthy story described how the court had settled a case where the architectural firm of Palworth, Levinson and Dingle was sued in the wrongful death case of a worker in their employ. The last section of the article was devoted to the family's ordeal in pressing their case. Interestingly, the case had been handled by a young lawyer - David Wright. Mr. Wright had thereafter become known as a bit of a crusader taking on cases that other barristers and solicitors had refused out right.

The feature had won a journalism award. And justly so, Claymore thought, fine piece of investigative reporting. He had been at the Chronicle for three years. He had had an offer from the Times and he planned to use his vacation to make his decision. “Why can’t I get this kind of exposure?”

Mr. Lewis paced the length of the Yellow Room and back. He had accompanied Mrs. Moss and they had found themselves in opposite rooms. He was in Yellow and she in Green. It was always the waiting he found the hardest to bear. His thoughts returned to the conversation he had overheard a few minutes earlier as he had entered the Yellow Room. Lewis had stopped at the threshold and looked around to see where the voices were coming from. It was an agitated Lady Portia speaking to her husband. The Renvilles were approaching from his left. Sir Anthony looked like he was trying to calm his wife. He had caught snatches of their conversation as they got closer and closer.

"What could he want now?" Lady Portia asked.

"Perhaps nothing. Let's not worry about-"

"I knew that you serving on that commission would lead to no good."

"It was my duty, Portia. Unpleasant, true, but it was necessary. Oh, I left my reading glasses in the Red Room. I'll meet you in the small parlor for tea, shall I?"

They paused in the middle of the hallway and separated. Sir Anthony turned back the way he had come and turned right. Lady Renville continued down the hall. So preoccupied was she that she literally collided with Mr. Timmons. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Timmons."

"My fault, Lady Renville. I've been wandering about looking for the facilities,” said Mr. Timmons. "If you would be so kind."

"Of course, Mr. Timmons. It's straight down this corridor past the Chase room and turn right. It will be the first door on your right."

As they stood there by the stairs, Ms. McFadden was slowly advancing from the roof top stairs and reading every name on every door. She seemed to be making notes as she went. Mr. Timmons left to follow the directions given to him. Mr. Macklemore approached and asked Lady Renville the way to the Chevy Chase room.

Mr. Ironside spotted the clue first much to Mr. Wright's discomfort at being bested in their unspoken game of one-upmanship. It was a scrapbook with text and pictures lying open on the sofa. On the open page was a picture of Sir Anthony when he was serving on the British Special Forces hearing committee. The hearing committee acted as a first forum to discuss and settle challenges to military law, discharges of duty and criminal cases within the military services. Underneath the picture was a small scrap of a news article. It said "The military tribunal has adjourned for the year after settling three military cases. Sir Anthony Renville and retired Lord Admiral Alfred Lynch served as co-chairmen of the committee. Of the three cases tried only one case resulted in a negative verdict. The case against RAF Major Ian Timmons ended with his forced and immediate discharge from her Majesty's service. Major Timmons was charged with unethical conduct during a training mission in the Seychelles." The article continued on to detail each case tried before the tribunal.

"Does he harbor a grudge?" asked Mr. Ironside. "Perhaps he has returned for a bit of retribution."

"It seems too obvious to be credible,” Severus observed. He remembered Timmons laying court to Ms. Stevens. "Mr. Timmons seems to be enjoying the civilian life especially its freedoms."

"Really? What about you? Are you so lily white?" Mr. Ironside asked looking intently at Mr. Wright.

Snape had a quick flashback of déjà vu. He mentally cleared his mind and concentrated on his pretend persona. "I assure you my connection with the Renvilles is completely professional. I do not know them personally at all. Long ago, I represented a case against a company in which they were investors. I simply know them as a name on a listing."

"What was the case?" asked Mr. Ironside.

"Improper termination. An executive was dispatched without completing the terms set forth in her employment contract. We settled out of court by the way,” Mr. Wright explained. "Ah, no, you may not ask who my client was. While we are investigating each other, how do you know the Renvilles? You told me you were a portfolio manager. Do you keep their investments?"

"You have nothing on me. I know them not at all. I did not tend to any of their investments to the best of my knowledge,” said Mr. Ironside confidently. "I've never heard of them before coming here."

Severus stood looking out the window while he asked out loud, "I wonder what retired military types do in the civilian world, especially one under a cloud of disgrace?"

"Timmons doesn't dress poor. I know quality when I see it. I'll bet the clothes he has on is Turnbull & Asser from head to foot."

Ms. Danforth reached the Armory at last. The door was locked. She read her instructions again. Her note definitely said "The Armory." Well, it didn't specify that she had to be inside the room, did it? She leaned against the wall and waited. Some time later, Mr. McAdoo and Oswald walked by. Fortunately, they had keys to the Armory. Mr. McAdoo let her in and left on another errand. Inside, she found Mr. Claymore sitting in a chair engrossed in his reading.

"Chivalry is obviously dead,” Ms. Danforth commented.

"What?" asked Mr. Claymore.

"I was knocking on the door repeatedly. Why didn't you let me in?"

"Were you? I didn't hear anything. Sorry." Claymore bowed his head and continued to read the paper. He debated about letting her know about the newspaper. However, he reasoned that there was nothing in the game rules that said he had to share evidence. So, he kept his find to himself. Ms. Danforth walked around the Armory killing time.

Hermione fingered the business card which said "David Wright, QC" on the first line. The rest read "Chambers at 339 Torremain Road, London, England." There was an area of text below that which said "Specializes in commercial and Chancery litigation." She found several sheets of paper on which was spread out one newsworthy story "Lewis International Industries Facing Insolvency."

Hermione had just about finished the news article when Mr. Macklemore entered the room. "I found these on the table. Take a look."

Hermione slid the card and the article to the Scotsman. As Macklemore sorted through these new artifacts, Hermione thought long and hard about David Wright.

"I say this is getting very serious." Macklemore addressed Hermione from across the table. "Very serious."

Mr. Levinson was a bit late getting to his destination. He had had to ask Oswald for directions. As he went down the stairs from the roof, he saw Mr. Timmons dart into a room in front of him. As he passed it, he saw that the door was labeled the Blue Room. At the fork in the hallway, Levinson turned left. After a few meters he passed the Yellow Room on his right and then he saw his location conveniently on his left just as Oswald had described it. It was the Green Room. He was surprised to see Mrs. Moss peering at a glossy magazine intently.

"Mrs. Moss, a pleasure. What's so interesting?" he asked.

"Ms. Stevens that's who! I had no idea she was so successful or so famous. She doesn't put on airs like one would expect. Though it says here that she might have stepped over a few bodies to get to the top." Remarked the school teacher. "To this day, it says, the industry is amazed at her meteoric rise."

"Success always has a price, I find. Ms. Stevens seems a very intelligent person. I'm sure that her success was due more to her character traits than to anything sordid.” Levinson strolled about the room. He supposed it was named the Green Room after the heavy sumptuous curtains hanging in the windows. It was a pleasant room not too feminine or masculine. It was a nice little parlor to retire to after a busy day. On a small table he saw a picture. It showed four young men in university uniforms. He looked more closely. One of them looked very familiar.

Mr. Timmons ducked his head into the Blue Room. He saw Mr. Moss napping on the sofa. Not wanting to disturb him, Timmons quietly prowled around the room. On a side desk was a current news magazine. The cover subject was corporate whistle blowers. He casually flipped through it. A small picture made him stop. It was Mr. Ironside no mistake about it. A bit younger but it was him. The sidebar identified him as an accountant from a small firm that was found guilty of investment fraud due to evidence he had unearthed. Clients had been defrauded to a total of several million pounds. The company was investigated and forced to close. On a postscript it said that Mr. Ironside now served as an auditing consultant with a very lucrative practice in London.

Ms. McFadden walked into the Yellow Room to see Mr. Lewis studying a shelf full of books very intently. Ms. McFadden laid down her oversized tote bag as well as her small notepad and pen. On the sofa were two open books. Absentmindedly, Mr. Lewis told her to take a look at the author. She noted the title of the book "Mont St Michel a History." Its author was a John H. Moss. Could it be the same as their Mr. Moss? Her answer came when she saw the dedication page which said - "To my inspiration, Emily."

"Mont St. Michel is the sister abbey to this one. Is he researching St. Michael then?" asked Ms. McFadden jotting down this new bit of information in her notebook.

"Perhaps." Said Mr. Lewis cryptically. "Perhaps not."

At exactly 4:17 PM something happened at St. Michael's that rarely if ever happened. The lady of the house let out a bloodcurdling shriek that echoed through the hallways. She kept screaming louder and shriller with every passing minute. The screams were so loud that Mr. Moss woke up. The sleuths rushed out of their rooms and milled about the hallways trying to follow the screaming. Some were faster than others.

On the floor in the Red Room was Sir Anthony unmoving with spots of blood on his person and about the floor. Mr. McAdoo held on to the distraught woman as the others sought to help Sir Anthony. Mr. Levinson immediately checked for a pulse and found one.

"He's alive!" Mr. Lewis said.

"Someone get my first aid kit in the Yellow Room!" said Ms. McFadden. She examined him and saw blood on the back of his head. "Someone's brained him on the back of the head."

"I'll go get it!" Mr. Timmons volunteered. Mr. Claymore watched him and followed him out from a distance.

Lady Portia instructed Oswald to go the village and get the doctor on duty. With luck, he may yet still be on the island and not taken the ferry back to Marazion. Oswald left to find the doctor.

Sir Anthony began to stir and moan incoherently. Severus took notice of the others who were fanning out about the room looking for clues. Mr. Ironside was snapping pictures of the "body" and the room in general.

Hermione motioned to a book lying on the floor. "This must have been what was used. Look, it has drops of blood on the spine and cover."

"Only a coward would strike from behind,” said Mr. Ironside.

"Or a woman,” said Mr. Wright. "A man wouldn't turn his back on another man. It goes against instinct."

"Sir Anthony may not have even ken he was being attacked," said Mr. Macklemore.

Sir Anthony opened his eyes and blinked a few times. "Oh, what happened?"

"Keep still don't try to get up." Ms. McFadden asked in a no-nonsense voice, "Where's my kit?"

"Mr. Timmons is getting it." Mrs. Moss informed her and the group.

"I thought you were a secretary?" asked Ms. Stevens.

"I became a secretary after I left nursing, Ms. Stevens." Ms. McFadden refused to elaborate further.

Both Mr. Wright and Mr. Ironside looked at the other. Since Mr. Wright was closest to the door he slipped out and went to look for Mr. Timmons. Just as Mr. Wright got out into the main hallway, Mr. Timmons was coming out of the Green Room.

In one hand was a black medical kit and in the other a magazine. "Here, you might find something interesting about your new girlfriend." He tossed the magazine to Mr. Wright on his way to the Red Room.

Severus spied Ms. Danforth outside of the Red Room leaning against a window looking out to sea.

She saw him looking her way and she said, "The room was too crowded for me. Besides, I can't stand the sight of blood."

"A strange weakness for a nurse,” Severus said.

"Oh, I'm a nurse and sometime receptionist for a small private practice in London. I don't see much blood fortunately,” said Ms. Danforth. "I was a hopeless wreck at nursing school."

Ms. McFadden patched up the small cut in the back of Sir Anthony’s head while he described what happened. "Well, I was over by the desk there looking for my glasses. I found them then dropped them. I bowed down to pick them and that's when I felt the pain in the back of my head. I don't remember anything else after that."

"Lady Renville, why did you come back? I'm sorry but I overheard you and Sir Anthony in the hallway and you were on your way to the parlor downstairs." Mr. Lewis said.

"I came back because I remembered where his glasses were. It was in one of the desk drawers,” said Portia. "Anthony has a terrible time finding things."

Mr. Wright asked, “Did you come back immediately?”

"Ah, no. I chatted a bit with Mr. Timmons and Mr. Macklemore. Mr. Timmons needed directions to the facilities and I told Mr. Macklemore where the Chevy Chase room was."

Oswald came in breathing heavily with the doctor standing beside him. "Mr. McAdoo, the weather's turning on us. The ferry captain hailed me and said that he needs to leave in the next ten minutes."

"Aye, it's that sea storm coming to land after all,” answered Mr. McAdoo. "All right, everyone! We need to get back to the mainland. Sir Anthony and Lady Renville would you be so kind as to visit us tomorrow at Newquay to answer any other questions we may have of you?"

"I think I can make it through the night, Mr. McAdoo." The doctor examined him and proclaimed that he only needed a good night's sleep. Ms. McFadden was complimented on her expert bandaging.

"We'll be in Newquay by 9:30 AM,” declared Lady Renville helping her husband to his feet.

The sleuths made their way to the dock under gray skies and drizzling rain. The ferry left the dock at about 4:40 PM. The ride back was choppy and wet. The sleuths eyed each other taking each other's measure. Ms. McFadden was once again writing in her notepad. Mr. Wright made sure the magazine was secure in his coat pocket. Mr. Ironside cast wary sideways glances at Mr. Timmons. Ms. Stevens was at the railing of the ferry ignoring the cold sting of rain as she reran the events of the few hours over and over in her head. Mr. Levinson was in the rear of the ferry looking at the castle as they got further and further away.

Even the bus trip back to Newquay was far less boisterous than the trip to Marazion had been. No one played cards. No one joked. No one pointed out the scenery. Instead some of them read their packets more carefully. Some of them doodled madly on notebooks. Some slept. And some kept an eye on everyone else. Mr. Wright kept an eye on Ms. Stevens.

Up front, a chirping mobile roused Mr. McAdoo from a sound sleep. After a few minutes of conversation he sighed and put the phone back into his pocket. He stood and walked to the center of the swaying bus. "Everyone, I regret to inform you that not only has an attempted murder been committed today but also a theft."

"Sir Anthony has just informed me that the charter of Edward the Confessor is missing and presumed stolen. Both the castle proper and the ferry have been searched. Since our group was the last known tourists in the castle all suspicion falls on this group. This bus will be searched as soon as we reach Newquay. I would ask that each of you allow us to search your belongings when we arrive. I can only conclude that we have among us a murderer and a thief."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press on! It's getting tricky but good things come to those who keep reading. Promise.


	6. Distractions

The steady staccato beat of rain on the windows was the perfect accompaniment to the careening thoughts that had kept him awake well into the night. He stood looking out to the sea now roiling and pounding against the beachhead. His mind replayed yet again the events of the last 24 hours, especially their arrival back at the hotel. Was it only a few hours ago? It seemed an age.

They had arrived sodden and surly trooping dutifully into the main lobby. The task of searching the bus had fallen to Oswald. In a way he had had the far easier job not having to contend with the now very tired and disagreeable pseudo detectives. They had all emptied their pockets, purses and assorted other bags. Aside from the contents serving as indicators of which participants took the event seriously, there was nothing materially important discovered among their belongings. The charter wasn't on any of their person or personal effects. They had gone to their beds grateful that the day was finally done. If anyone had qualms they had kept it to themselves.

But the day wasn't done for everyone. The sentinel continued to gaze out to sea. What he was looking for only he knew for sure. He brought the cigarette to his lips and took a long, deep drag. He looked at his watch after every drag. It was getting late, too late. There was something he was missing, something vital. He knew the who of the matter but the how was proving elusive. How was that charter removed from the library?

If he could figure that, he could back track and find the thief. He went to his desk, turned the desk light on and took out his journal. He looked over his notes one more time. Yes, all the pieces fit. He turned the light off once more. He tucked the journal behind some books in the bookcase. He moved an armchair by the balcony.

He was about to sit down when there was a soft knock at the door. Right on time, he thought. He opened the door and let his visitor in. "Do you know what time it is? What do you want?" asked his visitor.

"I'm disappointed in you. I thought my note was obvious."

"Your greed is obvious."

"Yes, I admit it. But your sloppiness was equally obvious. What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't have much time. How about five percent ?"

"What do you take me for? I want nothing less than 15 percent."

"15 percent? Out of the question. What risks did you take? Nothing."

"I was at the right place at the right time, wasn't I? For that, my friend, I deserve 15 percent. Be glad it's not more because-" His words gurgled to a stop. He found himself fighting for his life clawing at the strong hands squeezing his windpipe with deadly ease and efficiency. It was a fight that he was not destined to win against a motivated opponent. His body crumpled to the ground.

The visitor quietly moved about the room searching through the closet and drawers haphazardly. Clothing and other personal effects were unceremoniously dumped on the bed. The desk was ransacked. The visitor surveyed the results of his search.

A flash of lightning illuminated his face as he said, "The fool must have been bluffing. He should've known better than to tangle with professionals."

* * *

In his room, Severus Snape lifted the decanter and filled his wine glass. Sipping his wine, he pondered his notes which lay scattered on the desk. He had looked over them repeatedly but his well-honed mind refused to cooperate. No, his mind dwelt on a more disturbing topic than the mysterious theft and attempted murder. Ms. Diana Stevens was proving more of a mystery than he had anticipated. She was an intriguing combination of worldliness and naivety. How much of that is her mystery character and how much was real?

Her quick wit was not faked that much was obvious. But her reaction to him on the beach was puzzling. As he had described his complete woman, he had seen her breath hitch and the color rise in her face. Either she was a consummate actress or she had far less experience in the flirting game than their rapid fire exchange had indicated. Who was the real Diana Stevens?

Enough of this he thought. The woman is turning your brain into mush and forget what she does to your lower regions. Get back to the mystery. Solve that and then you'll have the rest of your vacation to deal with Ms. Stevens.

He sat down at the desk. He started a fresh page. He asked himself "Who do you know among the suspects who could not have had the opportunity to knock down Sir Anthony?" Next to that he wrote "Wright" and "Ironside."Mr. Ironside had not left his sight the entire time so that was a definite. Of course that doesn't mean that Ironside could not have had an accomplice. As for who did knock down Sir Anthony, Severus was convinced it was a woman. Sir Anthony would have had his guard up if it had been a man. But, he reminded himself again, but his inner voice argued that Sir Anthony hadn't seen his attacker. It could be a man or a woman.

Well, he thought, it will have to be a process of elimination. Who had opportunity in each instance? Their motives were really not important right now. He had to study the movements of each suspect and decide on opportunity. Find the opportunity, find the thief. Find the motive, find the murderer.

* * *

Mr. Wright wasn't the only denizen of the hotel unable to sleep. Mrs. Emily Moss was propped up in bed reading her packet and jotting down more and more notes. Next to her Mr. Moss was quietly snoring. She had two columns on her notepad. One column was titled "Successful Theft" and the other was named "Bungled Murder." Under the first column she had written down "Valuable charter." "Sotheby's last auction a similar artifact brought in 250,000 pounds." "Large size but can be rolled or folded" and underneath all that was the word "When?" Underneath the second column there were far fewer entries - "Why?" and "Who?"

She and her husband had discussed the case for a long time before John dozed off. She knew of only three people who could not have had anything to do with the attack on Sir Anthony - her husband, Mr. Levinson who had been with her the whole time and herself. Everyone else was fair game.

Her husband strongly felt that she was focusing on the wrong thing. It was all an issue of timing. When was the charter actually stolen? Was it before or after the attack on their host? If it was before, then the attack was premeditated. Perhaps, the would-be killer and thief was one and the same person and simply wanted to even the score all the way around. However, if the theft was done after the attack, then that opened up a whole other can of possibilities. It would have to be two distinct crimes her husband had said and that led to the conclusion of one to provide a distraction by attacking Sir Anthony while the other stole the charter. With her head full of potential combinations and assorted ideas, Mrs. Emily Moss fell asleep at last.

Hermione sat on her bed. She studied the diagram of the castle's layout that she had drawn from memory. The library had been in the central corridor and everyone must have passed it from either direction while getting to their assigned rooms. That meant that anyone could have slipped in and taken the charter. She looked at her packet to see the size of the charter. It was in a frame set high on the wall. Whoever stole it had to be tall enough to bring it down. Whoever did it had to know the fastest and most efficient way to remove an article from its frame. It was a professional job. It had to be, she surmised. There was very little time to do it in. If it were her, she would have taken the charter while everyone was looking for their rooms. Few would have noticed what was going on as all was intent on finding their rooms. It had to be exquisite timing. She had to find out who was in what room and who came in first and who came in second assuming that each room was assigned to two people.

She looked at the location of the Red Room. It was isolated down a rarely traveled corridor. Whoever attacked Sir Anthony had to have been already near the vicinity of the Red Room. The closest rooms were the Yellow and Green rooms. The rooms closest to the Library had been the Study, the storeroom and the Chevy Chase room. Her thoughts turned to Mr. Macklemore. He had been several minutes behind her in coming into the Chevy Chase room. Was that enough time to have stolen the charter? She deduced that yes it would have been ample time especially for a professional thief. Did he attack Sir Anthony? That was a resounding No as he had stayed in with her the whole time. This mystery event was turning out into a real mystery and she was certainly getting her money's worth.

* * *

During a breakfast of smoked haddock poached in milk and butter, Mr. McAdoo delivered the news that there was one less of them. "I regret to inform you all that we lost a guest last night to an act most foul. Hotel services reported finding Mr. Claymore strangled dead in his room."

This was met with audible gasps around the room.

"The room has been left untouched and will be available for your inspection. Additionally, Sir Anthony will be coming around this morning to question you all. I urge you all to cooperate as best and as fully as you can."


	7. Let the Questions Come

Eleven pairs of eyes stared back at Mr. McAdoo. His words were clear enough. One was gone. Eleven were left. Mr. McAdoo watched each one for their reaction. He could clearly see that the murder on the heels of the purloined charter unbalanced many of them. Some were slack jawed with disbelief. Others were looking at their fellow detectives with suspicion and mistrust.

"Sir Anthony and Lady Renville are expected any minute now. Would any of you like to ask me some questions?" asked Mr. McAdoo.

"Mr. McAdoo, how and when was the body discovered last night?" asked Mr. Lewis.

"It was not exactly last night, Mr. Lewis. Several attempted wake up calls went unanswered this morning. When Mr. Claymore did not answer his wake up call, Mrs. Welborn and a bellboy checked on him." Mr. McAdoo informed the group. "We estimate that the death was sometime in the night. Our best guess was sometime between 11pm and 2am."

"How can you be so sure of the time?" Emily Moss asked.

"By the degree of rigor mortis of the body. Seeing that it is breakfast I shall not be graphic. However, a report of the state of the body will be handed out to you upon inspection of Mr. Claymore's room."

"Can you tell us what was the cause of death?" asked Mr. Levinson.

"From what we can surmise, death was by strangulation,” said Mr. McAdoo. This bit of news was greeted with silence. Many of the diners had forgotten their breakfasts altogether.

"Was there any other signs of trauma to the body other than the signs of strangulation?" The question was asked in such a clinical and authoritative manner that many eyes were drawn to the questioner - Ms. Stevens. The questioner ignored the looks and kept her concentration on Mr. McAdoo whom she was regarding with intense scrutiny.

To his credit, McAdoo withstood her gaze with aplomb. Had he but known that that same studied regard had often reduced erstwhile confident wizards and witches to reveal their deepest and darkest thoughts perhaps he would not have fared as well.

Ms. Stevens added, "Was there a sign of a struggle?"

"The room is a mess. I can only assume that there was some struggle."

Throughout the questioning, Severus kept a close eye on Ms. Stevens. _Ah, the real Ms. Stevens is being revealed._ Whether he liked this new revelation he wasn't quite sure yet. But what did pique his curiosity was the almost unholy brightness that made her eyes shine like emeralds in the sunshine. Her face was transformed. She was enjoying all this he could tell. He had labeled her shy at the beach. But now, he was wont to think her reticence masked a natural confidence. Her questioning revealed an incisive mind and if the scene at the beach was any indication a skillful actress. A small voice was raising the alarm in his head. It would not do for him to turn his back on her. That would not do at all. Well, it was time he tested her mettle.

Hermione took a sip of water before proceeding. "Was murder the motive or was it a botched robbery or an argument gone too far?"

"A crime of passion, Ms. Stevens? Hardly,” said Severus dryly.

"It's as good a motive as any, Mr. Wright,” countered Hermione.

"A woman could not have strangled a man of Claymore's size and height. Unless they were in the act and even then a knife to the ribs would be easier to accomplish than strangulation or smothering with a pillow, at least for a woman."

"It could have been a man as much as a woman." Hermione shot back at him.

"He was bisexual!?" asked the horrified Ms. Danforth.

"Oh, please, Claymore was so straight he could have given lessons to a ruler. Trust me, I know,” Mr. Ironside put in. He had regained his appetite and was finishing his haddock.

"Just how well did you know him, Ironside?" asked Mr. Levinson. "You seemed rather chummy with him at the luncheon."

"We sat at the same table that's all,” replied Mr. Ironside. "But, if you're looking for chummy, I suggest you ask Mr. Timmons there. And while we're at it, perhaps, Major Timmons could enlighten us on how well he knows Sir Anthony.”

That tidbit of information set tongues wagging all around. Many swiveled in their seats to look at Mr. Timmons and await his answer.

"You are not laying this on me, nancy boy. The first time I met Claymore was here,” Timmons sneered. "As for how I know Renville that is no one else's business but my own. I will say that I harbor no personal ill will towards him."

"You have no negative feelings towards the man responsible for you being cashiered out of the service?" Severus asked the question dispassionately with the expectation of an emotional answer. He was not disappointed.

Timmons stood up so suddenly that his chair fell to the floor. He leaned on the table and looked daggers at Snape who was sitting just one table away. "You and Ironside are in on this! You're both trying to frame me!"

"You have not answered the question."

"What do you want me to say? Anything I say will count against me."

"Then I can only conclude that you are-"

Timmons’ face was red and contorted with rage. "Don't say it, Wright!"

"-being less than honest,” Severus finished neatly.

"It was a military trial fair and above board. Renville was doing his job being on the judges' panel." Timmons crossed his arms across his chest. "I have nothing against a man doing his job."

"What were the charges against you?" asked Hermione. She was impressed with Mr. Wright. To her mind, he was slyly slicing away at Mr. Timmons layer by layer allowing Timmons enough rope to hang himself. Perhaps, he was a barrister in real life. Whatever he was, there was more to him than met her eye. She could usually read people at a glance but Mr. Wright was defying description at the moment.

"Unethical conduct befitting an officer. I was supposedly pushing the recruits too harshly during training maneuvers,” Timmons admitted. "If you don't push them to the limit, how will they ever know their true capabilities?"

"So, how are you enjoying civilian life?" Severus asked.

"Very well, thank you. If you must know I freelance as a security officer for people of note,” Timmons declared almost smugly. "I do not lack for job offers."

Any further questioning was halted as the Renvilles appeared at the doorway. Seeing Timmons on his feet, Sir Anthony made eye contact. Mr. Timmons nodded back. The action was neither friendly nor hostile just a simple acknowledgment of recognition.

Mr. McAdoo also nodded at the Renvilles. "Everyone, please finish your breakfast and gather in the large parlor room. Thank you."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, they were all scattered about the parlor. Some standing, some sitting while others leaned against any available furniture or wall. Sir Anthony held their attention standing in the middle of the room. The only visible reminder of his attack was a small gauze bandage affixed to his right forehead.

"One of you is a thief and, more than likely, a murderer. I will not rest until the charter is recovered and the guilty is uncovered you all may be assured of that." Sir Anthony’s voice was strong and clear. "Whoever did this reprehensible deed will be found and punished."

"Mystery Event Planners is in complete agreement with you, Sir Anthony,” assured Mr. McAdoo. "How do you propose to go about the questioning?"

"I have a list of questions that I will be asking each person. I must say that I am not duly concerned with the murder here at the hotel, Mr. McAdoo, only what happened at St. Michael’s,” said Sir Anthony.

"I understand completely. I ask that each guest here not interrupt the questioning. If you have a question, please wait and raise your hand. I will then call on you." Mr. McAdoo surveyed all the detectives. "Please proceed, Sir Anthony.”

"Let me begin with Mrs. Emily Moss." Sir Anthony turned to the pair who were seated to his left. "Mrs. Moss, please tell us your actions from the time you left the rooftop to the time that you arrived at the Red Room."

Mrs. Moss sat on the sofa with her notebook on her lap. She folded her hands atop her notebook and was lost in thought for a moment. Her husband had an arm protectively about her. "As I remember, I left the rooftop with John and Paul, I mean, Mr. Lewis. Shortly after we got down the stairs, John went into the Blue Room." Beside her, John Moss nodded his head. "Then Mr. Lewis and I went on past the main staircase. We turned left into the hallway where our assigned rooms were. I went into the Green Room and he to the Yellow Room. I was in the Green Room until I heard Lady Renville's scream."

"Did you pass anyone in the hallway on your way to your room?"

"Yes." Mrs. Moss glanced quickly at Mr. Lewis. "We were just about to turn into the other hallway and we saw Mr. Wright and Mr. Ironside standing by a closed door. I think it was the Study."

"What were Mr. Wright and Mr. Ironside doing?"

"Just standing there talking. They were debating on who should open the door and get in first. I said something like they were wasting valuable time and should stop playing games."

"Did you see them go into the Study?"

"I don't remember," Mrs. Moss paused. "Wait, I didn't see them actually go in because Paul and I had already turned left. I assume that they did."

"The Study is opposite the Library. Did you know that?"

"Yes. I remember from the tour where it was."

"Did you pass anyone else on the way to your assigned room?"

"No. I think Mr. Lewis and I were the first ones in the corridor."

"All right. What did you do in the Green Room?"

"There didn't seem to be anything to do but wait. I found a magazine and read it. After a while, Mr. Levinson came in."

"Do you remember how long you waited?"

"I'd say about ten minutes. I was reading a long article on Ms. Stevens and I was just about finished with it."

At this new information, Ms. Danforth raised her hand. Mr. McAdoo nodded towards her.

From the opposite side of the room, Ms. Danforth asked her question, "What was the article about?"

Mrs. Moss shot an almost apologetic look at Hermione who was seated in a high-backed armchair by the fireplace. Hermione shrugged tacitly accepting Mrs. Moss' silent apology. "The article was about Ms. Stevens' rise to business prominence. There were allegations about the source of her business' funding and how she rose quickly through the ranks at the couture house of Galtierri. Typical gossip, you know, lots of pictures and few real facts."

Hermione was startled but managed to keep her face neutral throughout Mrs. Moss' reply. Hermione knew Ms. Stevens' biography of course. Her opinion of Mystery Event Planners went up a few notches when she realized how authentic and thorough the whole event was becoming. She’d had no advance knowledge about the article. _Good way to keep us on our toes._

She remembered the business card of Mr. Wright that was in her possession. Her eyes darted to him. Mr. Wright was seated on a love seat opposite her. He was looking remarkably self- composed. He chanced to look in her direction. In that moment, Hermione caught his questioning look. She tried to stare back at him but could not hold his scorching gaze for long. She looked at the next person to ask a question - Mr. Ironside.

"Mrs. Moss, you said that you were alone in the Yellow Room for ten minutes or more." Mr. Ironside continued after Mrs. Moss nodded in agreement. "Well, truth be told, the rooms were not that far away from the rooftop stairs. Wright and I were at the study in less than two minutes. How come it took Levinson, here, so long to get to the Green Room?"

Standing behind Hermione, Mr. Levinson did not wait to be recognized before responding. "I was delayed because I was asking Oswald about directions to the Green Room. I mean the rest of you left the rooftop at a run. I think I was the last one down."

Oswald, standing by the door, confirmed Mr. Levinson's answer. "Aye, he did ask me for directions."

Severus raised his hand and was promptly recognized. He turned to look at the architect. "In all likelihood, you were the last one off the rooftop. Did you see anyone on your way to the Yellow Room?"

Levinson's eyes had a faraway look as his mind drifted back. "Let's see. I walked down the stairs from the roof. I saw Mr. Timmons going into a room on the left. The door said the Blue Room. I got to the main hallway and turned left. I found the Green Room on my left."

"You saw no one else?" Severus asked.

"No, no one." answered Levinson.

"What are you insinuating Wright?" Timmons asked crossly.

Severus said his next words slowly and with some emphasis, "I insinuate nothing. I imply even less."

"Everyone, please stay calm,” advised Mr. McAdoo. "Sir Anthony, please continue with your questioning."

"Mr. Lewis, please tell us your movements from the time that you left the rooftop."

"Like Emily said we came down the corridor. She went to Green and I to Yellow. A few minutes later I heard Sir Anthony and Lady Renville talking in the corridor,” said Mr. Lewis. "I didn't intend to overhear. I couldn't help it."

Mr. McAdoo cleared his throat. "Lady Renville could you enlighten the rest of us as to the subject of your conversation with your husband?"

"Well, Anthony and I were discussing one of your guests, Mr. McAdoo,” replied Lady Renville.

"Which of my guests?"

"Mr. Timmons."

"I see. What about Mr. Timmons?"

Lady Renville bit her lower lip nervously. "You see, we, rather my husband, knew Mr. Timmons. My husband being a military officer served on a commission panel that tried several military cases some time ago. One of the cases, he passed judgment on was a case against Mr. Timmons. The charge was unethical conduct and the panel found Mr. Timmons guilty. I believe Mr. Timmons was discharged because of that decision."

"Did you recognize Mr. Timmons?"

Sir Anthony looked at McAdoo and answered. "No, not at first. He does look different now. It was only after Portia had seen the list of names that she asked me about the name. It was during the tour that I recognized him."

“Did you worry when you saw his name and recognized him?"

"We were only curious at the coincidence, Mr. McAdoo,” said Lady Renville. “T

"Did Mr. Timmons approach either of you?"

"No, not at -." began Sir Anthony.

"Yes he did," interjected Lady Renville.

"He did?" McAdoo could not hide the surprise in his voice.

"It was perfectly innocent!" Mr. Timmons protested loudly.

"I was on my way to the lower parlor when Mr. Timmons asked me where the facilities were." said Lady Renville.

"When was this? You never told me." said Sir Anthony.

"It was right after you left to go back to the Red Room. I had passed the Yellow and Green rooms and was just about to go down the main staircase." explained Lady Renville. "I actually collided with Mr. Timmons."

"You then gave directions to Mr. Timmons?"

"Yes, Mr. McAdoo." Lady Renville confirmed. "Oh, before I forget. Mr. Macklemore also asked for directions from me. I directed him to the Chevy Chase room."

"So you were not in contact with Mr. Timmons outside of the inquiry in the hallway? Is that right?"

"Yes."

Mr. McAdoo probed further. "Did he at any time allude to the trial to either you or Sir Anthony.”

Lady Renville shook her head.

"As I said perfectly innocent,” said Mr. Timmons smugly.

"It is of no consequence now. I'd like to continue questioning Mr. Lewis then." Sir Anthony looked at Mr. Lewis. "Please describe any further events while you were in the Yellow Room and until you arrived at the Red Room."

"After I overheard your conversation, I waited and looked through the bookshelves. Then Ms. McFadden came in,” replied Mr. Lewis. "I came across a book on the history of Mont St. Michel. I showed it to Ms. McFadden."

"There are several volumes on that topic in that room. Was the book important?"

"Did you know that the book was written by a John Moss?" Mr. Lewis looked at Mr. Moss. "The dedication was made to Emily. I think it's fair to say that the author is the same as the John Moss sitting over there."

"I wrote that so long ago before we got married,” said Mr. Moss smiled fondly at his wife before addressing the group. "I did graduate studies at the Sorbonne in Paris. I studied Mont St Michel for my thesis. I do write the occasional book when time permits."

Ms. McFadden standing by the fireplace raised her hand. "Are you now doing research on St. Michael's Mount?"

"No but I would love to,” answered Mr. Moss. "I think it has an even richer history than its sister house."

"Mr. Lewis, please continue," said Mr. McAdoo.

"Ms. McFadden and I waited there until we heard Lady Renville's scream. Then we rushed out and went to the Red Room with everyone else."

"Ms. McFadden, please describe your route from the rooftop to the Yellow Room,” said Sir Anthony.

"I came down the stairs a bit behind the rest,” said Ms. McFadden.

"Why is that?"

"I was drawing a map in my notebook." Ms. McFadden raised the notebook up as if to show it to everyone. "I was trying to mark doors and such on it as I went along. I was going slow and people passed me by."

"Who passed you by?"

"I remember Ms. Danforth was quite ahead of me on the stairs. I was near the Blue Room when Bruce went by. Then I turned left down the corridor to the Yellow Room."

"Did you pass by anyone else or see anyone else?"

"No, Sir Anthony. None that I can recall."

Sir Anthony turned to look at Bruce Macklemore. "Mr. Macklemore, please describe your route from the roof to your assigned room.

"Hmm, I did pass Cynthia. I remember that clearly." Mr. Macklemore rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Then I saw Lady Renville by the staircase and asked her for directions like she said. I went straight down past the Study and went into the Chevy Chase Room which was my assigned room. Ms. Stevens was already there."

"Did you see anyone else?"

"Well, there was Mr. Timmons. He was walking down the hall past the Study when I approached Lady Renville. He must have been on his way to the facilities like he said." Mr. Macklemore postulated.

"Did either you or Ms. Stevens leave the Chevy Chase Room?"

"No, no. We were too busy looking at the clues."

"Clues?" Mr. Levinson asked eagerly.

"Aye. There was Mr. Wright's business card. Turns out he's a QC, silks and all. Then there was an article about Lewis International nearing bankruptcy and-" Mr. Macklemore answered.

"That article is a blatant lie!" said Mr. Lewis. His eyes flashed and his body rigid with anger. "My firm was in the middle of a restructuring phase. Of course, we had to sell off some assets at a loss. But the company was never in any danger. Who wrote that piece of slander?"

"It was from the Chronicle, Mr. Lewis." Hermione informed the group at large. "The byline was by Adam Claymore."


	8. An Annoying Reminder

Paul Lewis was an experienced executive used to dealing with the ups and downs of the business world. Standing in the parlor, he could have been an icon for the British upper class with his elegant tailored clothes complimenting his silvery hair, lean frame and sharp, angular features. One could say that he had an interesting face but certainly not a handsome one. His droopy lips and weak chin added to his generally dour facial expression. But his face was exempted from any further insignificance by his eyes. They were blue with a deceptively mild outlook.

The others looked at him expectantly. As they waited, he berated himself mentally for losing his temper. Something he had not done in nearly a decade. The implication was more than clear. He had a good, if not great, motive to want Adam Claymore silenced one way or another. Well, he thought, you have extricated yourself out of worse situations than this before. Pretend you're in front of a board of inquiry and turn on the charm. His face was then transformed. His eyes sparked with a measured intensity. He was the hunting hawk readying for flight as the hunter and never the prey.

"I know what you're all thinking. I can see it in your eyes." Lewis adopted a conciliatory tone. He looked at all of them making certain of direct eye contact with each one. "When that article came out, my company was very vulnerable, very, very vulnerable. Admittedly, I might have wished Claymore dead when first he wrote it. I'm sure I wasn't the only one. My company was not having financial problems to the degree reported. I truly believe that whoever his source was at the time gave him bad information. Once the true financial picture became known, we recovered very easily."

"Your company surely received some negative publicity. It was very bad timing,” Levinson noted.

Lewis visibly relaxed his stance. "Of course, bad publicity is never good. Bad publicity during unfortunate times can be fatal. But, again, we sailed through it all. Sails at full all the way."

Emily Moss raised her hand. Mr. McAdoo nodded at her. "Did you recognize his face or his name?"

" I did not know he would be here. I have never met him face to face but I did remember his name," Lewis answered. "He was a reporter and I assumed he was one and the same person."

"Once ye were here, did ye ever speak with the, um, deceased?" asked Mr. Macklemore.

"No. Besides, I arrived just as the bus was leaving. You all should remember that," replied Lewis. "Was I not asleep on the bus, Mr. Wright?"

"Were you?" Severus arched a brow and stared back at Lewis.

Lewis was the first to blink. "Yes, I was asleep the whole time."

"I remember you were delayed. What kept you?" Timmons asked.

"That should be obvious now that you know my background,” Lewis answered. "I had some last minute things to deal with. This is supposed to be my vacation."

"We are running over schedule, ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Claymore's room still needs to be investigated." Mr. McAdoo informed them. "Please, let us allow Sir Anthony to ask his questions. You will all have ample time to ask your questions after the room investigation. Sir Anthony, please continue."

"Thank you, Mr. McAdoo." Sir Anthony paused and read his list. Then he turned to Hermione. "Ms. Stevens, please describe to us your activities from the time you left the rooftop and going forward from there."

"I was one of the first to leave the roof," Hermione began. She crossed her legs at the ankles and sat up straight. Her gaze never left Sir Anthony. "Beside me on the stairs were Mr. Ironside, Mr. Wright and Mr. Claymore. I passed straight down the hallway past the main stairs, the Library and the Study. My assigned room was the Chevy Chase room and I went in there."

"Did you see anyone in the hallways? Pass anyone?" Sir Anthony asked.

"No. Definitely not."

"Did you notice if the Library door was open or closed?"

Hermione bit her lower lip in concentration. "Open. Yes, it was open wide and-"

"How can you be so sure the door was open? I could never remember something like that." Ms. Danforth interrupted in her best breathy girlish voice.

"I pay attention to details, Ms. Danforth. That is why we are all here, isn't it?" Hermione replied coolly. "It's not hard to keep one's mind on what's important."

Ms. Danforth sniffed loudly dismissing Hermione's answer. "Dear girl, is THAT what you were doing on the bus?"

Hermione could not take back the sharp glare she sent towards the odious Ms. Danforth. She could only hope to impale the wretched woman on it permanently. "You are so very observant, Ms. Danforth. I'm sure you noticed how much I enjoyed the trip. The company was delightful I assure you." She flashed several bone-melting smiles towards Levinson and Timmons. "As I was saying, the door to the Library was open."

"What did you do once you were in your assigned room?" Sir Anthony continued his questioning.

"I came in and looked around. The wall frieze is fascinating, Sir Anthony. I found the business card and news article on the table,” Hermione said. "I was reading them when Mr. Macklemore arrived."

"Do you confirm Mr. Macklemore's statement that you were both in the room the whole time?"

"Yes. We stayed and discussed the items for a while. Then we heard Lady Renville's scream. We both left the room and headed for the Red Room."

Severus watched Ms. Stevens under hooded eyes. The woman was fascinating! Before his eyes, she alternated personas - demure, sophisticated, caustic, shrewd, flirtatious, calculating. Ms. Stevens was turning out to be quite a mystery herself. One thing he was certain of - she was not speaking in her normal tone of voice or manner of voice. The differences in her personas made that obvious. Plus, she was young, perhaps mid-twenties. Her skin had the glowing tautness of youth that no form of cosmetic miracles or magical charms could emulate. Now, she would never make a boring wife would she asked his little voice. He ignored it as best he could but it was only a halfhearted effort.

"Very well, thank you, Ms. Stevens." Sir Anthony consulted his list once more. "Mr. Moss, I do apologize. I did not mean to skip you. Please tell us your movements from the time you left the rooftop and forwards from there."

John Moss looked pensive. "I'm afraid I'm not going to be much help. My assignment was the Blue Room which is almost at the foot of the rooftop stairs. I came down with my wife and Paul. They went ahead to their room while I ducked into my room."

"What did you do once you were in the Blue Room, was it?"

"Yes, the Blue Room. I was tired from all the walking and the bus trip. I have a slight heart condition you see. I tire very easily these days." Mr. Moss squeezed his wife's hand. She patted him on the arm in encouragement and support. In truth, Mr. Moss had the pallor of someone recovering from a long illness. Under his salt and pepper hair, his face was wan and grave. Were he of average height, his thin frame would have seemed average. But Mr. Moss was over six feet. His height only exaggerated his gaunt appearance. His voice, on the other hand, was firm and strong. "There was a sofa in the room. A bit short for me but comfortable. I laid down and closed my eyes for a few minutes. The next thing I remember was hearing Lady Renville."

"After you heard my wife what did you do?"

"It was like waking up after someone had dumped water on your face. I was wide awake,” Mr. Moss explained. "Mr. Timmons and I left the Blue Room-"

"Together?" Severus asked loudly.

"Yes. In fact, Mr. Timmons opened the door and I went out first."

"Please continue, Mr. Moss,” said Mr. McAdoo.

"We kind of stood there looking as the others spilled into the hallway. We were all trying to figure out where the screaming was coming from."

"Could you tell who was in the hallway with you?" Sir Anthony peered closely at Mr. Moss.

"Besides me and Mr. Timmons, I remember seeing Mr. Ironside, Mr. Macklemore, Ms. Stevens and Mr. Wright walking by. And Emily was standing outside her room waiting for me."

"Do you remember anyone else?"

"Not distinctly, no. The rest of them were probably close to the Red Room already. I think my room was the farthest from the Red Room."

"What did you do then?"

"I and Mr. Timmons went towards Emily." Mr. Moss smiled at his wife. "Mr. Timmons went a bit ahead of us. Then we were all there in the Red Room with you, sir, on the floor."

"We now come to you, Mr. Timmons. Please describe your movements from the time that you left the rooftop."

"All right." Mr. Timmons brought himself to absolute attention. "You lot already know most of it. I left the room and passed by the Blue Room. One could hardly miss it. Since Mr. McAdoo indicated we had about ten minutes I thought to go to the gentlemen's room. I went through a few hallways but I couldn't find it. Somehow I found myself by the main staircase. Fortunately, Lady Renville was there and I asked directions."

"Hard to believe a military man would lose his bearings so easily,” murmured Mr. Ironside. While he did not shout the statement, he did not whisper it either.

"If you don't know what you're talking about, I suggest you shut your trap,” Timmons said sharply. " I wasn't paying careful enough attention during the tour. After a while all the hallways look alike. But you obviously know your way around quite well, Ironside. The Study is just opposite the Library isn't it?”

Sir Anthony cleared his throat. "After you spoke with Lady Renville, what did you do?"

Timmons let out a long sigh. "I came back from the gentlemen's and went straight to the Blue Room."

"Yes, Mr. Levinson mentioned seeing you enter the room. Thank you, Mr. Timmons,” said Sir Anthony. "Now-"

"Wait, I'd like to know what Mr. Timmons was so preoccupied with that he lost his way,” said Hermione.

"Well, Diana, when we were on the bus, I'm sure you remember me saying something about a big contract that I had just landed. I was lost in planning the details in my head,” Timmons answered. "I know this is supposed to be my vacation but business always comes first."

"Hmm. I suppose." Hermione tried to remember exactly what Timmons had been prattling on about on the bus. Unfortunately, her thoughts during that time were on Mr. Wright and how his arching eyebrow reminded her of someone in her distant past.

"I think we'll have your answers next, Mr. Ironside,” Sir Anthony announced.

"What was my route?" Ironside began his version of events. "We, Wright and I, followed Ms. Stevens down the stairs. We quickly got to the Study. Mrs. Moss saw us joking around by the door. I opened the door and went in first then Wright. We closed the door and looked around. We, I mean I, found the scrapbook of your time on the military panel, Sir Anthony. The same panel that served as judge over Mr. Timmons’ trial. That and the bit about Wright's lawsuit against you."

Ironside aimed a playful smirk towards Mr. Wright who shook his head ruefully. There were audible gasps in the room. Timmons was practically quivering in anticipation.

Sir Anthony looked quizzically at his wife then at Mr. Wright. "If you please, Mr. Wright. What lawsuit?"

"About a year ago, I represented a client who worked at a company in which you had a sizable investment." Severus rose up to his full height and addressed the room. "My client was terminated without cause. We brought suit against said company. In the best interest of all parties, we settled out of court."

"Who was your client?" asked Timmons.

"I am not in a position to reveal that information."

"Convenient."

"It is not relevant to this."

"Did you know the Renvilles personally?" This came from Mr. Lewis.

"No. To me they are only names on a list long forgotten." Severus lifted his chin and fairly dared anyone to contradict him.

"How is she, your client, now?" asked Ms. Stevens. "Was the settlement to her liking?"

Severus moved towards her and looked down at her. "My client is content."

"Complete-ly?" Hermione cocked an eyebrow up at him returning Severus' steady gaze. He could almost see the smile she barely held in check.

"Enough for her purposes but everyone is different, Ms. Stevens."

Sir Anthony was rubbing his chin deep in thought. "I agree with Mr. Wright. I do not know Mr. Wright personally at all. This information is not relevant. Mr. McAdoo, what say you?"

"I agree." Mr. McAdoo nodded. It seemed to him that Mr. Wright and Ms. Stevens were more than ready to move to an entirely different topic having to do with natural mysteries not manmade ones. Their body language was rather obvious he thought. He hid his grin behind his hand and disguised his chuckle in a cough.

Severus retreated back to his seat. _Best not underestimate Ms. Stevens. Teasing minx!_

"Mr. Wright please continue and tell us what you and Mr. Ironside did after finding the clues?" asked Sir Anthony.

"We both stayed in the Study the entire time discussing the scrapbook. Then we heard the scream. We ran outside at the same time as everyone else. We made our way to the Red Room and found Mr. Levinson, Mr. Lewis and Ms. McFadden already there. And from there, everyone knows what happened."

"That brings us to Ms. Danforth." Sir Anthony looked at her. "Please describe your movements."

Ms. Danforth tossed her hair back and signed dramatically. It was not a natural action for her and that was readily apparent. "I came down from the roof. My assigned room was the Armory. I went straight there."

"Who was with you and what did you do?"

"I didn't know who it was at first."

"Excuse me? How could you not know?"

"The door was locked, Sir Anthony. I checked my note and it definitely said the Armory."

"What did you do then?"

"I knocked and knocked. Finally I gave up and just stood there. What else could I do?"

McAdoo said, ”Oswald and I came upon Ms. Danforth. We unlocked the door for her."

"Yes, they did and about time, too." She pouted a bit. "To make a long story short, I found Adam in the Armory reading something. I asked him why he hadn't let me in and he responded that he hadn't heard me knocking. I was knocking and knocking I tell you."

"What was Claymore reading?" asked Severus.

"I don't know. He didn't share it with me."

Upon hearing this Severus' mind went to pure analytical mode. No one else seems to have made a comment about it so it's unlikely that Claymore shared that knowledge. _Very likely the article is still at St. Michaels._ He began to plan another trip to St. Michael's Mount.

"Please continue, Ms. Danforth. What happened next?" Sir Anthony quizzed.

"I busied myself looking about the room. Pretty soon, we heard Lady Renville scream. We ran outside to see what was going on. I stood outside the Red Room talking with Mr. Wright for a while." Ms. Danforth smiled coyly at Severus. "That's all. End of my story."

Hermione could not restrain herself. A question had popped into her mind and she had to have it answered. She raised her hand all the way into the air. She almost seemed to bounce in her seat in her eagerness.

Severus was strongly reminded of a previous noteworthy student. He absentmindedly wondered what had ever happened to Hermione Granger. People had drifted apart after the war. _Moving their own lives forward but you're still stuck in the same rut._ He shook his head slightly and forced himself to stay in the moment instead of listening to errant, foolish voices.

Hermione burst out with her question not waiting for Mr. McAdoo to notice her. "Based on what you said, you were one of the last people to see Claymore alive. Was he acting differently?"

"From what?" Ms. Danforth looked at Hermione with a blank look on her face.

"Well, you were chatting him up at the Chymorvah and if I'm not mistaken on the ferry, too." Hermione's expression made her words a statement of fact not conjecture. "So was he different?"

Ms. Danforth was silent for a time seemingly lost in thought. "Not that I could tell. He barely spoke to me. In fact, I was looking for him on the rooftop but he was gone before me."

"Mr. Renville do you have any further questions?" Mr. McAdoo asked. He pulled out a pocket watch, flipped it open then closed it again with a satisfying click.

"No, Mr. McAdoo, not at this time. I would like a few moments to gather my notes and impressions." Sir Anthony replied.

"Now, I believe is a good time to call for a short break then. Oswald, please escort the Renvilles to a guest suite." Mr. McAdoo called out. "Everyone, please gather outside Mr. Claymore's room at number 458 in twenty minutes. We will commence the room investigation then. Thank you everyone for cooperating."


	9. Stymied and Frustrated

The strands curved elegantly at the tips. Fine and loose, they slipped easily through his long fingers. Their pale color still startled him every morning. They were so unlike his own midnight-black locks. In past events, Severus Snape's only concession to appearances had been dressing in muggle clothes and cutting his hair. Severus harbored a suspicion that Mr. McAdoo had deliberately assigned him the role of David Wright as a personal challenge. Because of that suspicion, Severus had decided to immerse himself completely in his role. He had set out to become David Wright with a singular focus.

He had grown a beard. Then he had used magical means to whiten his teeth and change his eye color from black to hazel brown. However, magical charms and potions could be so unpredictable. So, for the rest, he had decided to rely on muggle methods of disguise. It seemed only fitting as the event was a completely muggle one. His own wand was carefully packed and hidden in his suitcase for emergency use only.

As Severus studied himself in the mirror, he had to admit, if only to himself, that the muggle way had its advantages. Harrowing as his visit to the muggle hair salon had been, the results were very pleasing and reassuringly permanent for a few weeks. The stylist had given him a flattering cut then changed his hair color to a light sandy brown along with his beard and eyebrows. A few hours in a tanning booth took care of his naturally pale skin.

He now leaned forward a little turning his face to the right then to the left. He picked up a small bottle of aftershave and splashed some on his face. Unconsciously, his lips moved and he grinned at himself. He couldn't quite bring himself to let loose with his habitual scowl. Well, the hours of practicing various smiles in front of the mirror paid off his inner voice said. Oh, shut up, he replied.

"Must be the bloody hair! It addles the brain. No wonder Lockhart was always smiling,” he murmured. He ran a comb through his hair marveling at the effect such simple changes had made. His eyes seemed less piercing but no less intelligent. He decided that the brown color must seem more inviting than his own black. Even his nose seemed less hawk-like set off as it was by his light beard. He straightened the collar of his wheat- colored shirt and made sure his black pants draped properly. His clothes had been pressed to within an inch of their collective sartorial lives. He preened before the mirror. He chided himself out loud. "You're turning into a peacock! The sooner you solve this the better."

His mind finally circled back to the reason he was here at all. Yes, the mystery, he mused. He looked at his watch. He had a few minutes left before all the detectives were to gather in front of Claymore's room. He picked up his notebook. He scanned his notes from the session this morning. His notes read:

Theft of charter demanded a physically capable person. - tall enough to reach it with strength enough to handle the weight of the heavy frame. Time frame of theft was minutes. Had to be done efficiently. Indicates previous experience. Likely male but strong female a possibility.

Suspects - Theft

J, Ironside - No; was with me the entire time

D. Stevens - No; went straight to CC room

B. Macklemore - Unlikely; timing not right with run in with Lady R

P. Lewis - No; accompanied E. Moss; overheard Renvilles; did he do anything after that?

C. McFadden - Possible; no real witnesses to movement after leaving roof

E. Moss - No; movement verified by me, Lewis and Levinson

M. Levinson - Possible; movement only corroborated by Oswald

J. Moss - Unlikely; napping and physical condition not fit for theft

I. Timmons - Possible; timing is tight though

A. Claymore - Unlikely; assuming first in Armory; was he really there?

D. Danforth - Unlikely; seen by Oswald and McAdoo; physically unfit for theft

The assault could have been done by either a man or a woman. However, the choice of weapon indicates a woman unprepared and using whatever was handy. The force of the assault only knocked Sir Anthony down. A man might have employed more force.

Suspects - Assault

J, Ironside - No; never left the Study

D. Stevens - No; never left per Macklemore

B. Macklemore - No; did not leave CC room per D. Stevens

P. Lewis - Possible; overheard Renville returning to the Red Room

C. McFadden -Possible; late to her assigned room

E. Moss - No; stayed in assigned room until Levinson appears

M. Levinson - Possible; no real witness to movements

J. Moss - Unlikely; Blue Room too far from Red Room and napping

I. Timmons - Possible; Levinson saw him enter the Blue Room late

A. Claymore - Unlikely; did he stay in the Armory the whole time?

D. Danforth - Possible; when did Oswald and McAdoo come by and see her?

Suspects - Murder Could be anyone

Questions: Is the theft related to the assault?

Is the assault related to the murder?

Is the murder related to the theft? "Three crimes. At least two different people." He pocketed the small notebook. He was further convinced that all of it was a matter of timing.

As he made to lock his suite, he noticed Ms. Stevens exiting her own room two doors down on the left. Her back was turned to him. He crossed his arms across his chest, leaned on his door and let his eyes indulge in some unexpected but fortuitous ogling.

Like him, she had changed into clothes more suitable for the upcoming inspection - dark fitted jeans, a loose dark green silky blouse and comfortable flats. Her raven hair she had tied into a ponytail. Her profile was entrancing. As she turned slowly, his eyes made their leisurely way upwards once again. Their eyes clashed - green against brown, interest evident in both.

Hermione looked him over from head to foot. "Heading my way, Mr. Wright?"

He caught the double meaning easily. He took a few steps towards her. "I believe so, Ms. Stevens. Would you like company?"

"You have yet to tell me about your ideal, complete woman."

"Yes, I did say I would, didn't I?" He took another step even closer to her forcing her to lean against the wall. "We've already had the theoretical discussion. I believe a practical demonstration would be more illustrative."

She had no quick retort to that as several vividly erotic images came to mind. She looked up at him and studied him for a moment. "Would I be an active participant in this demonstration?"

He extended one arm pressing his hand against the wall by her side. "You wouldn't be able to help yourself."

"You sound very sure of that. I’ve found that talk is indeed cheap especially where men are concerned."

"You will find that I am very … expensive."

"Really? How much do you charge an hour?"

"Hours, Ms. Stevens. An hour alone would be wholly unsatisfactory."

"I ought to warn you. I've been labeled as hard to please, Mr. Wright. Demanding even.”

Severus looked at her long and hard. He realized that seduction was not going to be enough with this woman. "To my mind, you are a discriminating woman. When you desire a taste of the apple of finer pleasures, do let me know."

With that said, Severus willed his entire body into obedience and moved away from her. He walked off down the hallway resisting the urge to look back. If he had looked back, he would have seen a stunned and stymied Ms. Stevens.

The arrogance of the man she thought. And what a man her inner voice declared. The arrogance intrigues you admit it why don't you? It does not, she protested. _How dare he speak to me like that? It's about time someone did. Don't let him get away. Who does he think he is anyway? His name is Mr. Wright and it fits._

She looked at her watch and realized she had to get a move on if she was to meet the others by Claymore's room. She had a mystery to solve and no time for distractions especially those of the egotistical, self-serving two-legged variety. She stepped briskly down the hallway mentally swatting her inner voice into submission.

Her inner voice gave up the fight with a simple question. _Why are you so afraid?_


	10. The Journal

The yellow streak zigged down for a few meters then zagged a sharp right a meter more. The line dipped here and there before shooting back upwards once more, straight up. It could have been a child's tracing of the coast of Italy or a random doodle of a raggedy boot. But at the Hotel Victoria such was not the case. On the floor, the sticky, neon yellow police tape outlined the form that had once been Adam Claymore's leg, well, thigh, knee and a bit of ankle.

Mr. Wright flipped through the set of photos provided to all the detectives. One photo clearly showed Claymore's body sprawled face up on the floor. Another was a close up of the victim's neck and face. Several more showed the disarray of the suite at the time of the body's discovery. Severus moved away from the outlined body to let Ms. Danforth and Mr. Levinson have their own look. The other detectives were scattered about the room looking their fill.

Mr. Ironside and Mr. Macklemore walked to and fro from the door to the bed trying out several possible scenarios. "Claymore let him in. The lock wasn't forced." said Ironside. He took a picture of the door and a wide shot view of the suite.

"Aye, there wasn't a fight either. No one at the hotel reported any kind of loud rows or commotions last night." Macklemore added. "The room's messy but nothing that would indicate a fight. Claymore's clothes are not torn or damaged either."

"So, he comes in. They chat for bit." Ironside takes a few steps into the room. "He must have caught Claymore by surprise somehow."

Mr. Lewis gestured at the writing desk where all the drawers had been turned out and their contents strewn everywhere. "Well, the murderer was in a great hurry. Killed Claymore first then proceeded to ransack the room. What was he looking for?"

"Why would the murderer be in such a hurry?" Mrs. Moss asked. "The murder was done late at night. We were all in our rooms. He or she could have taken their time searching around."

"There would have been no hurry if this was planned. I don't think the murderer was prepared to kill him." Ms. Stevens stood by the bookcase looking at all the titles. _Unusual, my room doesn't have this many books. Why does his?_ Unlike the others, she was more interested in those areas not touched by the murderer.

"No weapon save his hands," Mr. Ironside said from near the armchair. "When one is desperate one uses whatever's handy."

"Spur of the moment killing?" Ms. Danforth looked at Levinson. They were both crouched by the body comparing the photos to the surrounding area. "And you're all saying 'he’. Why not a she?”

Ms. McFadden looked up from sketchbook and said "Look at the span of the bruises on the neck." She resumed sketching the layout of the room.

"Claymore's no lightweight," said Mr. Levinson. "His killer had to be the same or better in body weight and height I would think."

"The marks indicate that Claymore was facing his attacker. The murderer had to have had the strength to hold and fight off Claymore's attempts to free himself,” Mr. Wright said.

"All right, it was a man then. How can you be sure that he was looking for something, Lewis? From the looks of things it could have been an attempted robbery. A bungled one." Mr. Timmons carefully opened a bureau drawer and peered inside.

"Claymore let him in. That doesn't point to a robbery at all,” said Ironside.

"Claymore had something. Whatever it was, the murderer wanted it badly,” said Mr. Moss. He and Ms. Stevens were investigating the bookcase pulling out books and knick knacks. Ms. Stevens pulled out a slim journal and began to leaf through it.

"And is this murder connected to the theft of the charter?" Mr. Lewis put in.

"Perhaps." Mr. Macklemore stood by the balcony door looking into the room. He noticed several cigarette butts littering the balcony. "What if it isn't?"

"It is and this proves it." Ms. Stevens held up the journal. "This is what the murderer was after - Adam's journal."

Exclamations of surprise were heard from everyone. Ms. Stevens began to read from the journal. "This entry seems to have been written on the bus. Shaky handwriting."

She read an entry that said:

_“I know when it was stolen but I don't know know how it moved from the library without anyone noticing anything amiss? Had to be a professional job. There aren't too many here who could fit the bill - Wright, Timmons, Ironside, Levinson and the Scotsman. Moss is sickly. He was taking some heart medication at tea time. What in hell is Paul Lewis doing here? Crooked bastard!"_

"The last entry was done right before the murder I think.” Ms. Stevens continued to read.

_"No one had it on their person. McAdoo thoroughly searched us. So, is it still on the island, in the castle, the ferry, Marazion? There was a hand off at some point. There had to have been another person involved. One to get the charter and another to hide it or carry it off somewhere else. The attack on Renville was a little too convenient. One way to find out for sure. If he sees my note and bites, then that's that. I checked with the Chronicle's research desk. The charter is worth several thousand pounds just for its historical value. Nice prize to dangle on the black market. My bank account would certainly welcome some additional funds."_

"Blackmail!" said Ms. McFadden.

"Obviously he underestimated his intended victim," observed Mr. Lewis. "Rather a poor show on his part. Too bad."

Mr. McAdoo stood in front of them and clapped his hands once. "Ladies and gentlemen, this investigation now concludes Day 2 of this event. None of you are allowed to leave the premises today. However, starting tomorrow you are all on your own. You may investigate where you will, when you will. You will then have five days to solve the mystery. The first person to provide me with the charter, proof of the murderer and a solution to the crime will be the winner or winners.”

"Can we work as pairs or teams?" asked Emily Moss.

McAdoo nodded at the American couple. "You may as a team or a pair present your solution. Also, you may question whomever you wish from myself to Sir Anthony or even Mrs. Wellborn and her staff. Oswald and I will remain at your disposal. Good luck and happy sleuthing!"


	11. The Chase

Mrs. Welborn cautiously opened her office door and looked out into the hallway. It had a been a long afternoon and she was looking forward to getting home. _Hmm, so far so good no one around._

The concierge locked her office and started walking down the hallway. A few minutes later she crossed another hallway. She was meters from the back exit when she heard footsteps approaching. She looked left and right but found nowhere to hide. She quickened her own steps. Her hand was reaching for the doorknob when she heard the two words she had grown to dread this day.

"Mrs. Welborn!" Mr. Lewis glided over to her.

"Yes, Mr. Lewis?"

"About the arrangements for tomorrow. I just have one more change to request."

"I am very sorry. The draw is done. All arrangements have been finalized." Mrs. Welborn opened the door a crack. "Unless you find someone willing to trade with you, I'm afraid your own arrangements stay as they are. Goodnight, Mr. Lewis."

Making her way to her car she reflected on her hectic afternoon. _Thank the stars they will be out of my hair tomorrow._

The detectives had swarmed about the hotel questioning the staff, even the cooks, about the murdered man. Fortunately things went smoothly as the staff thought of the playacting they were doing as bits of silly larking.

“These detectives really are an odd lot,” she murmured under her breath. “People do take their hobbies seriously.”

* * *

Hermione left her room and went downstairs. In the foyer, she was pleased to see John and Emily Moss waiting for her.

"Good morning, Diana,” John called out.

"Good morning to you, too." Hermione had to smile at the picnic basket John was toting. It was their trade for sharing the car. She drove while they provided the early morning breakfast and lunch. Clue sharing was implied, of course.

"This is so exciting!" Emily fairly bounced besides her husband.

"Seen anyone else?" Hermione asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

"None. No one at all.” the elder woman replied.

The three of them made their way to the parking lot. At six thirty am it was still dark enough to require the street lamps be lit. Hermione noted happily that the other rental cars were still there. Good, we've got a head start. Hermione was settling herself into the car when a noise to her left made her turn. It was the unmistakeable growl of a motorcycle.

A lone motorcycle came into view and stopped directly in front of her car. The helmet-less rider was dressed in a black leather jacket, dark shirt and pants and black boots. Mr. Wright looked straight at her and revved the engine once. Giving Hermione a smart half salute he turned his cycle and roared out of the parking lot.

The whole event had taken mere minutes but it was precious minutes that she had now lost. Hermione was not pleased. "Damn that man!"

"David certainly has style,” Emily noted.

"Yeah, style. Plenty to go around I'm sure." Hermione kicked the car into gear with a savage swipe. They drove off following Mr. Wright. She managed to follow him for a while until they neared some hard curves. She watched amazed as Mr. Wright accelerated to a suicidal rate and disappeared around the bend. Knowing the vehicle accident statistics by heart, Hermione took her time around the twisting turns. _That man has a death wish!_

"Well, it's close to two hours to Marazion, anyone want their tea now?" John was in the back while Emily acted as Hermione's navigator.

"That would be lovely, dear. How do you take your tea, Diana?"

"Black with light sugar." Hermione gritted her teeth fuming over the audacity of the man. "How is it that it's David now, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Oh, we got to know him when he wanted to trade. He had heard that we had drawn a motorcycle you see." John explained. "He wanted to trade the rental car he drew for the motorcycle."

"That's odd."

"We thought so too,” Emily said.

"He said he preferred the extra mobility,” said John.

"I overheard him talking to Mrs. Welborn that he wasn't accustomed to driving,” Emily supplied.

Hermione mulled over that piece of information. _A grown man not wanting or able to drive. Curious_. "Obviously you traded the motorcycle but why didn't you take his rental car?"

"We had already traded a ride with you before we talked to him." Emily explained. "But we traded something better with David."

"A favor,” John said with some relish. Hermione could imagine the big smile on the American's face. "Anywhere, anytime and for any reason. We can ask him for anything."

His wife finished the explanation. "We overheard Mr. McAdoo and Oswald talking about him. Oswald was being advised to not let anything slip around David. Apparently, David has solved all the mystery events he's ever attended."

"But that ... that means he not guilty!" Hermione had to control her reaction to stop the car right then and there.

"Exactly!" There was a note of triumph in Emily's voice. "That makes five innocent detectives by my count."

"Five?"

"Adam, for obvious reasons, David, John, you and me."

"You don't think I could have done any of the crimes?"

"No."

"What gave me away?"

"You're too eager and driven to solve the case,” John said. "Please don't take that badly. It just made you stand out."

"Besides, you don't have any concrete motive that we could deduce. Neither does David, not yet anyway." Emily put in.

"I don't believe it!" Hermione exclaimed. _Well, I have been rather distracted of late. But still._ "I just don't believe it!"

Had she not been driving, Hermione would have been hitting her forehead on the steering wheel repeatedly. As it was, she just shook her head over and over again. She marveled at the Mosses' sneakiness. Truly appearances can be deceiving.

* * *

Lady Renville clattered up the steps to the roof. Her husband turned at hearing her approach. The sun was just starting to brighten the horizon. Small shafts of light illuminated the island.

"Mr. McAdoo said the first batch just left,” said Lady Renville.

"No one is fooling around are they?" Sir Anthony pulled back her chair for her. A continental breakfast was spread out on the small table.

Lady Renville poured their tea. "My, this will be more exciting than the first day! I can't wait."

"We're ready for them. Let them do their worse."

* * *

At seven thirty am, the rest of the detectives rushed into the parking lot like marathon runners lunging across the finish line. There were only two rental cars left. Bruce Macklemore and Cynthia McFadden shared one car while the last remaining car was appropriated by Ian Timmons, alone.

Mr. Lewis ascended into the waiting local bus munching on toast and hugging a thermos of tea. It's not how you get there but what you do when you do get there.

The rest of the detectives had drawn motorcycles. Surprisingly, Amanda Danforth was the first to leave maneuvering her Yamaha motorcycle expertly through the gates. Jack Ironside took his time stowing his camera on his Honda motorcycle. Beside him, Michael Levinson settled into the sidecar.

"Mr. McAdoo!" Timmons yelled.

McAdoo walked briskly over. "What's the matter, Mr. Timmons?"

"That is the matter!" Timmons pointed to the deflated front tire on his car. "This is sabotage pure and simple! What are you going to do about it?!"

"As I see it, you have two options - the bus or the spare motorcycle. Mr. Levinson declined it. It's not very fast I'm afraid. Which will it be?"

Anger radiating in every stride, Timmons stalked over to an old model cycle standing off to the side. He was strapping on his helmet as Ironside and Levinson swept by him. Ironside grinned the entire time. The two were followed closely by the rental car driven by Macklemore. The bus carrying Lewis, McAdoo and Oswald came out next. Timmons was the last straggler a few minutes behind.

* * *

The mobile phone rang once more. Sir Anthony put his toast down and answered the call. He spoke a few minutes with someone then hung up the phone. "That was Mrs. Welborn. They're all off, my dear."

"Wonderful!" Lady Renville was quite giddy.

"I had my doubts about all this but really it has turned out smashingly."

"So, can we go to the next event?"

"Absolutely, as you wish. Rather curious to see how it feels to be on the other side of things."

* * *

Michael Levinson looked on at the Macklemore car disappearing off into the distance. He looked behind and saw the bus gaining on them. They had lost track of Ms. Danforth. Timmons was probably behind the bus. His helmet itched fiercely but he did not dare take it off just yet. In fact, he dared not move much. Even a quick glance at the passing pavement underneath the sidecar was enough to trigger his vertigo and incipient motion sickness.

To take his mind off his churning stomach he asked Ironside a question that had been bothering him for a while. "Hey, Ironside! Did you have anything to do with Timmons' car problem?"

Ironside looked at him. "What if I did?"

"Well, if you did, I was going to buy you a drink later."

"Make it two. I have a feeling it's going to be worth it after today."

In the Macklemore car, Cynthia McFadden counted off her list. "Timmons, Ironside, Lewis, Danforth and Levinson came out with us, Bruce."

"So, Ms. Stevens, the Mosses and Wright left ahead of us." Bruce said.

"Question is how much head start do they have?"

"Won't matter, Cynthia." At Cynthia's questioning look. "Remember, the first ferry starts out at 10:30am. Even if they got there earlier they still have to wait for the ferry."

"Right! And low tide isn't until about noon anyway so no one can cross that way." Cynthia rummaged through the small bag at her feet. She opened a thermos and poured tea into a styrofoam cup. "Tea, Bruce?"

"A cuppa would be lovely." He turned on the morning news and reclined back to enjoy his tea and the company he was keeping.

Hermione was quickly learning that the Mosses were full of surprises. Not only were they some of the most observant muggles she had ever met, they were also some of the shrewdest.

"By the way, Diana, no need to rush,” John began.

"We've arranged for a charter from the Marazion Sailing Club to get us on to the island,” Emily continued.

Hermione was aghast. "We're not windsurfing?"

"Lord, no. You'd never get me on one of those little things."

"Just a small sailboat that will drop us off at the harbor by the shops,” John said.

Hermione fairly squealed in delight. "We can climb up and wait for the castle to open at 10:30 while the others are still just boarding the regular ferry at Marazion. What a head start!"

"That was the plan.” Emily's smile was almost equal to Hermione's. "Plus, we can explore the outside of the castle while we're waiting."

Severus careened through the curves and into the straightaway as if the flames of hell were licking at his heels. He glanced at his rearview mirror and did not see his erstwhile follower. _I have to give her points for tactical strategy. Who would ever have thought that Black daring me to learn to ride a motorcycle would ever pay dividends?_

He returned his mind to the matter at hand - getting to the Chymorvah Hotel before anyone else. He had to talk to Mr. Martin. He increased his speed and concentrated on the winding road. He was close to the answers. He could feel it


	12. Getting Into the Act

A sailboat approached the island from the east. It did not go unobserved. On the roof terrace, Sir Anthony watched their progress through his binoculars. "We have a very early bird indeed."

"Can you see who it is?" Lady Portia asked.

"It looks like the American couple, the school teachers." Sir Anthony adjusted the range. "And if I am not mistaken, Ms. Stevens is with them."

"Odd pairing that." Lady Portia dialed a number on the mobile. "Mr. McAdoo, we have a confirmed sighting. Emily and John Moss and Ms. Stevens. Yes, together. Arrival by sailboat." There was a short pause while Mr. McAdoo's voice could be heard rattling off a series of instructions. "Yes, yes, we shan't let you down. Of course, Mr. McAdoo. Goodbye."

Sir Anthony looked pointedly at his wife. "Whom are we not letting down?"

"Mr. McAdoo that's who. We are instructed to keep them under tight watch until the others have arrived."

"Should be easy. They can't get into much mischief at the harbor front can they?"

* * *

The waves lapped gently against the sleek sides of the sailboat calmly cutting its way across the bay heading for St. Michael's Mount. On board, Emily, John and Hermione made themselves comfortable trusting the boat's captain to get them across ahead of the others. Hermione looked behind her for any signs of pursuit.

"It looks like we'll beat everyone else to the island,” John said. "Let's hope a head start is all we'll need."

"Do you see him?" Emily Moss asked Hermione.

"No sign of him or anyone else." Hermione turned forward and looked at the island looming ahead. The him under discussion was Mr. Wright.

Before taking the turn off to the sailing club, John Moss had spied Wright's motorcycle parked in front of the Chymoravah. They presumed that Wright was inside.

"He might have stopped by for an early breakfast,” John conjectured.

"I can't shake the feeling that he went there for a reason." Hermione peered across the bay. "I wish I knew what it was."

"We'll find out in due time." Emily opened a thermos and began to pour fresh coffee for all of them. Hermione opened her small pad and began reviewing her notes in earnest.

* * *

At the Chymorvah, Mr. Martin squirmed in his chair under the most intense gaze of Mr. Wright. He was under obligation to Mystery Event Planners to be as accommodating as possible but he would think twice about involving himself or the hotel in future events. Mr. Wright was proving positively unnerving. Charming enough he supposed but the man's stare could wound at ten paces.

"Now, Mr. Martin, let us go over this one more time. Just to make sure that nothing has been forgotten shall we?" Snape circled the hapless hotelier. "When the bus arrived at the ... this ... venerable establishment, we were ushered to the rear garden. Correct?"

"Yes. I was in fact introduced to all of you at that time. There was Mr. McAdoo, yourself, Mr. -"

"Yes, yes all of us. We began to take our tea and sandwiches." Severus paused. He found the man's slightly high pitched voice incongruous to his general hearty appearance. That coupled with the man's tendency to ramble only annoyed him all the more. Severus found himself hard pressed to keep Mr. Martin on course. "I was ... indisposed elsewhere. As I was not able to be around the others, I needs must rely on your keen observations of the others."

"I don't remember you sitting with any of the others. Wait, I do remember you plucking a rose from the bushes. Rather odd, I thought and-"

"I have an interest in botany, Mr. Martin. I found your roses to be superb."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Wright. We pride ourselves on our landscaping. None better in Marazion. Though the Charleton Arms in Penzance comes close I will admit and-"

"I am quite sure your hotel has no peer in the landscaping arena, Mr. Martin,” Severus interrupted. "Now, please recall the others, where they sat and who they sat with or talked to. Picture them in your mind. You may close your eyes if that helps."

"I'm afraid I don't remember names very well."

"Physical descriptions will do, Mr. Martin. Now take your mind back to when the group came in. First, tell me of those that you remember most clearly."

Mr. Martin did indeed have his eyes closed with his manicured hands clasped together on his lap. Loose strands of his brown hair were plastered on his damp forehead. "The one with the cowboy boots on. I thought it was quite tacky. With his jeans, a brown blazer with those patches on the elbows would have been much more fitting and that tie, heavens!"

"That would be Mr. Levinson. What was Mr. Levinson doing?"

"He seemed quite famished. He took several sandwiches away with him."

"Did he sit with anyone, close to anyone?"

"Let me see." Mr. Martin's brow creased in concentration. "Hmm, he was by a woman."

"Describe her please. Hair color, dress. Was she overly made up?"

"Oh, no, a plain jane she was. Rather mousy I thought. She was one of those kinds of women for whom the best description was 'brown' perhaps bordering on beige."

"Ms. McFadden."

"Ms. McFadden, thank you."

"Did Levinson spend the entire time with Ms. McFadden."

"Yes. Once he sat down beside her he didn't move at all. Neither did she."

"Did they talk much?"

"They seemed friendly enough I suppose."

"Let's move on. Who do you remember next?"

"The blond gentleman. His outfit was very well coordinated blue shirt with black slacks. Tricky combination that but he had just the right shade of blue. Wonderful toothy smile. Must have a very good dentist and-"

"That would Claymore, Mr. Claymore. What do you remember of him?"

"Well, he was by the railing looking at the island for a bit. Quite keen to cross over the bridge. I heard him say he was and he-"

"What did he do after he looked at the island?"

"He sat by another man. He had red hair. The other man I mean."

"Timmons. So they sat together the entire time."

"Yes and no. I don't quite-"

"Explain please."

"At first he sat with Mr. Timmons and another woman. Then-"

"Wait. Describe the woman."

Mr. Martin opened his eyes and he looked uncomfortable. "I don't want to comment on her dress sense because I couldn't be very complimentary and her makeup was -"

"That would be Ms. Danforth." Severus sat back in his chair looking at Mr. Martin intently. "So, she came by to sit with the two of them and then what?”

"No, no, Mr. Wright. She was already there. She was sitting with the red-haired man before Mr. Claymore came by."

"I ... see. What happened next?"

"They talked for a bit and then the woman said something. She laughed. Very loud girlish giggle it was. Then the red haired man stood up and took his food to another table with-"

"Mr. Claymore and Ms. Danforth were left at the table?"

"Yes. She seemed to find him fascinating."

"Where did Mr. Timmons go to?"

"Ah, let me think." Mr. Martin tapped his chin with his index finger lost in thought for a few seconds. "He sat with the Scotsman. You can always tell a real Scot by the way he wears his plaid I always say and-"

"Mr. Macklemore."

"See, a true Scot. I'm rarely wrong about the plaid you see."

"Did Mr. Timmons move anywhere else?"

"No, he stayed put."

"All right, Mr. Martin. We are making remarkable progress. Who else do you remember?"

"Mr. McAdoo ate with the couple. Americans I think they were."

"Yes, John and Emily Moss. Anyone else?"

"The rather standoffish gentleman, almost rude. Hardly smiled at anyone. He just sat by himself."

"That would be Mr. Lewis. No one else?"

"There was one who I don't believe ate. He kept taking pictures of everyone."

"Mr. Ironside."

"Terribly athletic looking he was and-"

Severus rose. He held out his hand to Mr. Martin. "Thank you very much, Mr. Martin. You have been of immense help. You will be assured that I will tell Mr. McAdoo just how helpful you have been."

"Why anytime, anytime at all." Mr. Martin beamed as they shook hands. "Now, would you like a bit of breakfast? Our dining hall is open."

"How long until the first ferry?"

"Not for a while yet I'm afraid."

"In that case, please point me towards the breakfast room." Severus followed Mr. Martin his mind was whirling with details. The players were very clear now. _I'm close to the who, but where is that charter?_

* * *

The bus lumbered on trailing the speedier motorcycles ahead. Oswald sat near the front of the bus keeping watch on the riders through his binoculars. On the seat opposite him Mr. McAdoo consulted his pad. He glanced obliquely at Mr. Lewis who was scribbling notes in a small memo pad in the rear of the bus. _A lively lot this bunch is. Very competitive. Wonder how long before someone solves it?_

* * *

"Oh, it was right there in front of me! I don't believe it!" Hermione looked at her notes. Happiness and a hint of relief was evident on her face. "Merlin! I thought I'd lost my touch."

"Merlin's touch?" asked Emily.

"It's right here, Emily." Hermione waved her notes in the air. "So very clear."

"What's so clear?" asked John.

"I know who stole the charter!"

"Who?" asked John.

"Don't you see? It's a matter of timing. I don't know how I missed it before! It was so obvious." Seeing the blank looks on the couple's faces, Hermione continued on. "In order to get the charter, the thief needed one thing - time. Whoever did it had to have had more time than any of the rest of us."

"Lifting that frame and taking it out would have taken at least eight to ten minutes. Less if the person was a professional,” Emily conjectured. "But we all spent about ten minutes just finding our rooms."

"Yes, from the roof to our rooms it was about ten minutes all around." Hermione agreed. "But there was one person who could have had more than ten minutes. That person removed the charter from the Library."

"Who?" John repeated.

"Who was the one person that no one mentioned, no one at all, as coming down from the roof?" Hermione's face glowed with her discovery. "Think. Everyone mentioned someone, didn't they? At least one person and sometimes two. Except for whom?"

Hermione could see that the couple was mentally sifting through all the detectives. John murmured to himself. "Who didn't anyone see coming down the stairs? Claymore ... Ironside ... Levinson ... "

Emily stood up suddenly. "By God, you're right, Diana. It has to be. There's no other answer that fits so well!"

"Yes, now all we need is the charter and we're halfway to solving this mystery." Hermione gazed at the island. "It's there. I know it's there. It never left the island.“


	13. Too Many Suspects

Diana and the Mosses practically scampered out of the sailboat so eager were they to get on to the castle. Along the tiny harbor front, the storekeepers were just beginning to open and prepare for the day's business. They stretched and looked around.

Hermione commented. "There's no one else here yet. What bliss!"

Emily read down her notebook. "Now that we know who the thief is, anyone have any ideas on where the charter has been hidden?"

John looked around the small harbor. "It still has to be on the island. I don't remember anyone carrying anything back on the ferry or the bus that might have contained the charter. Even rolled up or folded down, it would not have been easy to conceal. We were searched right after we got off the bus."

"But it could have been deposited somewhere for safekeeping. It was raining, whoever had it wouldn't take the chance of ruining it. If it was out here, it would have to be in plastic or some kind of container." Hermione added.

"All right, assuming that it is in some kind of protective cover, the charter could have been left outdoors." Emily pondered. "The thief then planned to return and pick it up."

"Or his accomplice would," John said. "The timing is too tight for both the theft, the attack and the hiding of the charter to have been done by one person."

That statement was met with stunned silence. Neither of the two ladies had seriously entertained the accomplice theory. "Ah, the million dollar question,” Emily murmured. "I hadn't taken Claymore's theory into account."

"He could still have been wrong,” John reasoned.

"It's the missing piece - the location of the charter. If we knew where it was we could do some backtracking,” Hermione said. "We've got time before the castle is opened. Why don't I take the steep walkways to the castle and the two of you look here and by the ferry area?"

"Fine by us." said Emily. "Let's meet up at the castle when it's open."

* * *

A pair of eyes had watched the sailboat make its way to the mount. In the breakfast room overlooking the bay, Severus was not enjoying his morning meal. Upon seeing the sailboat he had inquired from Mr. Martin if such activity was usual. Mr. Martin replied that it was usually only tourists who chartered private boats to the mount.

His spy years had thought him the value of listening to his instinct. His instincts were howling for attention. Feeling as if he had just been punched in the solar plexus, Severus had asked for binoculars. Peering through the binoculars, Severus could feel his stomach clenching and unclenching. It was Ms. Stevens and the Mosses. I _'ve been outmaneuvered!_

Severus glanced at the clock. There was less than an hour before the ferry's first trip over. He stirred his tea and fumed in silence. _I underestimated her again. I must find the time to have a little discussion with the clever minx._

* * *

The motorcycle and sidecar wound its way around the curves at high speed. In the sidecar, Levinson kept his eyes firmly ahead. To keep his vertigo at bay, he thought about the mystery. He said to the Ironside. "Claymore's theory was there was more than one thief. I think there was only one not two. And definitely a professional."

Keeping his eyes on the road, Ironside replied, "Why only one?"

"Look at what was stolen - one charter. To my mind, it's like a piece of art or some great jewelry. A single jewel thief has a better chance of securing the gem than a whole gang. In, out then gone. It's not like a bank robbery where more people would be an asset and a liability."

"I'm leaning towards only one suspect myself but for entirely different reasons,” Ironside confided.

"Who?"

"Sir Anthony himself."

"For the love of god, why?"

"Insurance money. He fakes the theft, the charter is never recovered and he get a very large insurance check."

"I suppose he hit himself over the head with the book, too?"

"Of course not." Ironside smiled. "His wife did the honors. Who found him? Lady Renville. Who knew where he was? Lady Renville."

"They can't need the money. They own the bloody island. They must be loaded."

"Are they? Maybe not." Ironside glanced at the road sign that read 'Marazion - 15 miles'. "These tourist places are not always fully subsidized by the Natural Trust or the local councils. It has to be expensive to run. Does income from tourists and such keep the bottom line in the black?"

"Spoken like a true accountant."

"You're the architect. In your professional opinion, does the Mount look like it's prosperous? Well maintained?”

Levinson was silent for a time. "I suppose I expected more when I came there. There were signs of continued renovation. I will concede that your theory may have some support. Where does Claymore fit in? Did the Renvilles do him in?"

"Maybe. He was murdered well into the night. Who's to say the Renvilles didn't follow us to the hotel and then did him in?”

The two men looked at each other and returned to their own thoughts.

* * *

Some miles behind Ironside and Levinson, Macklemore and McFadden were enjoying their breakfast on the road. While Macklemore drove, Cynthia McFadden studied her notebook.

"Any pet theories, Cynthia?"

"I have suspects, Bruce."

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

That got a soft laugh from the lady. "All right, you first."

"My first and primary suspect is Levinson."

"Michael?! He couldn't even find his room assignment."

"That's my point. An architect can read blueprints upside down. He couldn't even handle a small series of rooms without directions?" Macklemore shook his head. "No, he knew exactly where everything was. All his actions, to my mind, support my theory."

"How so?"

"What do you think about his clothes sense?"

"What does that have to do with this?"

"I'll get to that, lass. Answer the question."

"Well, perhaps he's color blind. No one could consciously think his clothes went together."

"So, like everyone else, me included, the first thing you notice about him is his appearance. He stands out doesn't he? Because he does stand out so much, no one takes real notice of him. I mean you see his clothes do you stop to notice anything else?"

"No, I don't." Cynthia drummed her fingers on the armrest. "It's like someone in camouflage. You see what he wants you to see. Then he fades from your consciousness.“

"That's it." Bruce took a sip of tea. "I think him being one of the last off the roof is by design because-"

"Because he had to look out for the accomplice," Cynthia finished for him. Bruce looked at her astonishment clear on his face. "What you just said fits in with who I think is the accomplice. We agree that it had to be more than one person right?"

"Aye. I haven't gotten to the accomplice bit yet. Who do you have in mind?"

"Ms. Danforth."

"I haven't considered her. I mean she's a hanger-on as far as I'm concerned."

"So you bought her act?" Cynthia smirked.

"Act?"

"No woman behaving the way she does could ever land a man. Men run away instead. And that's what she wanted." The car was silent for time. "Bruce, it's just like Levinson's tactic but instead of her clothes, though her clothes are bad enough, she used her personality to hide behind. I mean I remember at the Chymorvah, the men were simply desperate to get away from her."

"Claymore in particular," Bruce commented.

"Yes, Claymore was very anxious to get away from her, wasn't he? But they both ended up in the Armory together." Cynthia looked at her book again. "If he hadn't been murdered, Claymore would have been my choice working with Ms. Danforth."

"She could have done anything she wanted to and no one would have taken the time to notice." Bruce said.

"Right. With Claymore dead, who was her accomplice?" Cynthia continued. "We know a man killed Claymore. Based on physical attributes alone only a few men fit the bill to my mind - Levinson, Wright, Timmons and Ironside."

"Not Paul Lewis or John Moss?"

"No, Lewis does not strike me as someone who would elect to get his hands dirty. And Moss is in ill health. Claymore would have been able to fight either one of them off."

"Well, we have a fine pickle here, don't we?"

* * *

Hermione rubbed her aching calves as she sat on the top step leading to the castle. Traipsing through St. Mungo's corridors was nothing compared to the rough, cobblestone walkways to and from the castle. Beside her the Moss' were taking their own inventory.

"The harbor stores were already closed by the time our group made our way down there,” said Emily.

"Nothing in the bins or even in Jack's well." John added. "That leaves only one place left."

Before Hermione could answer, the castle doors opened. Lady Renville ushered them in. "Good morning! I can't believe you got here so quickly."

"Good morning, Lady Renville,” Hermione replied. "Would it be all right if we took a look around?"

"Quite all right, Ms. Stevens. You'd best take advantage of your head start." Lady Renville smiled. "The ferry has already left Marazion."

"It's too early! No ferry leaves before 11:00am,” Emily protested.

"One just did - almost twenty minutes early." Lady Renville added. "I've heard that the ferry drivers are amenable to sizable donations to their pub fund."

Hermione and Emily shared a knowing glance. Hermione forgot all about her strained calves as adrenaline flooded her system. She felt something else, a something that she could not have attributed to any man in her acquaintance - anticipation. Mixed with that was more than a healthy dose of growing desire at the very thought of Mr. Wright. She remembered the glimpse she had of him on the motorcycle before they left the hotel parking lot. She had thought him wild, certainly attractive and envied his quiet dramatic flair. He had looked straight at her before taking off. She had the decided sense that he was coming after her.

Hermione and the Mosses split up and began to search through the rooms. Hermione could not help glancing again and again at her watch or any window overlooking the bay. She watched the ferry get closer and closer.

Hermione said aloud. "So he's not just a pretty face full of easy charm. I underestimated him. I really, really did."

_Face it, Granger, the man has gotten to you, challenged you in every way. The man is relentless, impossible and, gods, utterly attractive. What to do? What to do?_

* * *

On the approaching ferry, Severus was facing a similar battle between desire and choice. A part of him was infuriated at the thought of perhaps being bested by a female. But on the other hand, his admiration and, yes, desire, for Diana was increasing. _What is it about her that drives me out of my mind and yet draws me in anyway?_

His inner voice freed from its muzzle made its view plain. _Forget this silly game. Sling the female over your shoulder and carry her off somewhere. You're not getting any younger, remember?_

Severus shook his head. He gripped the railing tighter. He said under his breath. "I cannot have an affair with a muggle. I want more. Will she give me more?"


	14. Guessing Games

There were times when Severus was very glad that he was an adult male. This very moment was one of those times. He leaned against the open library door and watched Ms. Stevens studying the space above the mantel where the charter had originally hung. He was mad at himself for underestimating her but at the same time, Slytherin that he was, he had to admire her methods. He eavesdropped shamelessly on her running commentary to herself.

"Based on the height of placement here, we've got the right man." Hermione walked to the other side of the mantel still unaware of her audience.

She reached up both arms extended as if reaching for something. "He came in, reached up and pulled the framed charter."

His gaze traveled down from her upswept arms, fitting if sensible attire and finally to her practical shoes. _This is no a fashion designer. Obviously not vain about her appearance. Sensible._

"Took it out of the frame and rolled it up." Hermione's hands mimed the movements of someone rollup up a large piece of paper. "He can't have carried it with him, can he?"

_Her approach is very scientific. What muggle profession could she have?_

No matter how many times she turned the scenario over in her mind she could not make the last critical connection. "How did he hide it? There wasn't enough time."

_Tenacious. Stubborn._

Hermione groaned in frustration. "It's not in any of the rooms we've searched. Where could he have put it?"

Severus' mind clung tightly to her words ' ... not in any of the rooms...' It repeated for the third time and then he knew. He knew where the charter was. He stepped into the room and cleared his throat. Hermione turned.

"In the most obvious of places." Severus spoke up saying each syllable crisply.

"We've looked everywhere and found nothing."

"A simple matter of deduction, Ms. Stevens, that came to my mind just now."

Before Severus could speak further, Emily and John Moss entered the Library. The Renvilles were close behind them.

Emily said, "David, I see you made it in early."

"I found the ferry driver to be very cooperative and left him richer by a few pounds."

"Mr. Wright, was just about to tell me where the charter is." Hermione made herself comfortable on a chair. She looked expectantly at Mr. Wright. The others took their own seats.

Severus waited until he had their full attention. He struck a pose with his body tall and straight, chin out and his arms crossed over his chest. His voice grew serious and deep. "Let us revisit the day of the theft. Every one of us had a room assignment and each of us went to those rooms."

He gave his head a jerk to the right. "It stands to reason that had the charter been in any of the rooms where people were assigned then it would have been noticed."

"Or in the hallways," Emily Moss added.

"Correct." Severus nodded at Emily. "It also stands to reason that when we all heard Lady Renville we all came out of our rooms. It is therefore unlikely for anyone to go into any of the rooms as we were all making our way out."

"Wait, we all congregated in the main corridor by the green and yellow rooms,” Hermione said. Something about his pose was dredging memories out of her past. Her eyes saw Mr. Wright but her mind's eye was strongly reminded of someone else. The pose, the attitude and the voice echoed one Severus Snape in front of his classroom in full lecturing mode. I _t can't be. I really do need a vacation for even thinking of the possibility._ "The Chevy Chase room and the study were off that corridor. No one would have been in that area. It could have been hidden there while we were all going in the opposite direction."

"The Armory would have been a better place. It's in its own corridor isolated from the rest,” John Moss put in.

"Did you find anything in those rooms?" Severus prodded.

_This is absurd! It couldn't be him. Severus Snape is not charming, witty or remotely attractive._ Hermione shook herself mentally. _They look nothing alike._ Her inner voice added, "Well, you changed your appearance didn't you?"

"Just this in the armory." Emily held up the London Times. "There's an article about you representing a civil suit against Levinson's architectural firm. The case made your career."

Hermione listened with half a mind to Mr. Wright's explanation. The other half was too busy replacing the blond hair with dark hair, the eyes to black and the skin from tanned to sallow and pale. _The same shape of face. The same height and build. Wrong eye color._ "Contact lenses, dear," her inner voice replied.

"Yes, it did." Severus glanced quickly at the paper and then turned his mind back to the matter at hand. "Lady Renville, all the rooms were searched after the theft was discovered, is this not so?"

She stood up and moved to the side to get a look at his profile. Hermione focused on Mr. Wright's face, specifically the nose.

"Yes, Anthony and I searched all the rooms - Yellow, Green, Red all of them,” Lady Renville responded.

"It had just begun to rain when the attack occurred, did it not?"

The Renvilles both nodded.

John Moss added, "By the time we arrived at the ferry, the rain was falling hard."

"Lady Renville has confirmed that a search of the castle did not reveal the charter. But I ask, what kind of search could have been possible that night? The thief was no fool. There are quite a number of us. The thief had to find a place to hide the charter that was away from prying eyes and, more importantly, a place where the chances of being seen were low."

"Somewhere that he or she could drop off the package and maybe pick it up again?" Emily asked.

"Yes. If you will all follow me, I will retrieve the charter." Severus turned on his heel and headed out the door and into the corridor. The move presented his best side, the right profile. Intent on his mission, Severus did not hear the audible gasp from his former student.

_Dear god, the nose is ... is ... it's HIS nose! The way he turned just now - precise, smooth._ Hermione's vision blurred for a brief moment. She felt disoriented, imagining things. Black, billowing robes striding down a long corridor. She put a hand on the table to steady herself. _I am seeing things that are not there. Momentary dementia. I must be coming down with something._

Sir Anthony's voice brought the party to a halt. "Wait, Mr. Wright. Any, ah, revelations must be done in the presence of Mr. McAdoo. Those are the rules are they not, Portia?"

Next to him, his wife nodded. She looked at her watch. "The ferry will be returning in about about thirty minutes. Why don't you all remain here in the Library. I shall have some tea and biscuits brought up?"

"If it's all right with everyone, I'm going to the Blue room and taking a nap on the sofa. Call us when we’re ready to proceed,“ John Moss said. Emily followed him out leaving Hermione and Severus alone.

Hermione sank into her chair gratefully. She didn't trust her knees just yet. _Would he be caught dead doing this muggle sort of thing? Of course not, idiot. Severus Snape, where did that ridiculous notion come from?_ Her eyes followed Mr. Wright as he made his way towards the mantel.

Severus studied the vacant spot where the frame had been for a minute or two. Then he turned and regarded her. "Earlier you said that you had the right man. Are you sure?"

"We're as sure as we can be based on the clues,” Hermione replied.

"May I ask how you can be so sure?"

"A simple matter of deduction, Mr. Wright."

"Touche, Ms. Stevens." Severus took a straight back chair and turned it around. He straddled the chair and placed his arms across the seat back. With his chin resting on his forearms, he looked at Hermione. _The woman is a puzzling minx._ "Where did we leave off?"

"Leave off?"

“We. Us."

"There is no us."

"Precisely. There should be, shouldn't there? Or am I misreading the signals, the attraction?"

Hermione swallowed once before looking him straight. "You're not misreading the signals. Will the signals be received long term or short?"

It was Severus' turn to pause and think. The question was unexpected. "While I have no objections to a brief but undoubtedly passionate interlude, I would prefer to get to know you and you to know me then see where that leads."

"That sounds very odd coming from a man."

"A year ago I would have preferred the passion by itself." Severus shifted in his chair. "Are you seeing anyone? I believe your bio made mention of a boyfriend."

"That's Diana's boyfriend not ... not mine. I am utterly unattached. And you, any lurking girlfriend, fiancée, partner, wife?"

"None of the above. My work takes up most of my time."

A parlor maid brought in a tea service. Hermione noticed that save for a little sugar they both took their tea the same way.

"I was the odd one out in my family,” Severus began. "Everyone else liked milk with their tea."

"You mentioned work, are you a barrister in real life?"

"The law has never appealed to me." Severus took a sip. "I am a teacher, a professor."

_I did not hear that._ Hermione plastered a smile on her face. "University? I can easily imagine you in a lecture hall."

"Not quite. I teach, ah, science at a preparatory school."

"What school is it? Perhaps I've heard of it."

"I doubt that. It's a small, private boarding school in Scotland."

_There must be dozens, hundreds of private schools in Scotland. Do not jump to conclusions._ "I've always thought that teaching was a rewarding profession."

"It can be but not all the time. And what about you?" Severus smiled. "I don't believe you're a fashion designer."

"It's my clothes, I knew they weren't quite right. Or the hair."

"It wasn't the clothes. No insult intended to fashion designers but I don't believe one would have your intelligence." The sound of rising voices caught their attention. "The others have arrived."

* * *

Hermione and Severus left the Library and joined the others in the main corridor by the staircase.

"Mr. Wright, I've been informed that you wish to reveal the charter's location," said Mr. McAdoo. "You know where it is?"

Severus nodded. "Come with me."

He led the group left away from the rooms. As the group neared their obvious destination, Hermione groaned inwardly. Her mind her raced through all the possibilities and she realized that there was one place that probably wasn't searched and in that place was the charter. How could I have missed that?

Severus paused on the first step. He raised his hand and pointed upward. "Up there, on the roof, is the charter."

The others murmured amongst themselves. Severus took the stairs two at a time. Once on the roof he strode to each cannon and reached inside each barrel. The first cannon yielded nothing. The second, also nothing.

On the third, Severus reached in and pulled out a long, cylindrical package inside a plastic bag. He held out the rolled package to Sir Anthony. "I believe this belongs to you, sir."

"It feels about the right size and heft." Sir Anthony opened the plastic and peered in. It was indeed the charter.

"It's been here all this time." Lady Renville exclaimed. "Unbelievable!"

Mr. McAdoo announced to the group. "Congratulations, Mr. Wright, on a successful recovery. How did you deduce it was here?"

Severus repeated all he had said earlier in the Library.

Sir Anthony unrolled the parchment just enough to verify its condition. He looked at Mr. Wright. "Now that it is back in safe hands, I'd like to know the identity of the thief."

Snape shook his head. "I am afraid I do not have the definitive answer to that question as yet."

Hermione stepped forward. She nodded at Emily then said, "But, we do."

Mr. McAdoo was surprised and pleased. "And your reasoning?"

Hermione echoed his pose and earlier tone. "A simple matter of applying the process of elimination, Mr. McAdoo."

"I see. By all means, please proceed."

Hermione addressed the entire group. "The theft wasn't a matter of motive. It was a matter of opportunity and timing. When I call your name, please move to the side, to my right over here please."

"John Moss. Jack Ironside. David Wright. Emily Moss. Paul Lewis." The remaining four watched the others move out to the left. "These people have witnesses or proof that they came from the roof. Mr. Ironside and Mr. Wright were seen coming down and going to the Study by Emily and Mr. Lewis. Emily and Mr. Lewis were together from the roof until they reached their rooms. They both saw John to the Blue room establishing his whereabouts early on.”

The remaining five eyed each other warily.

"Bruce Macklemore and Michael Levinson, please stand to my right. Mr. Macklemore was seen coming from the roof by Ms. McFadden and he spoke with Lady Renville. He then joined me in the Chevy Chase room. Mr. Levinson, though he was the last one down, did come from the roof. He had questioned Oswald."

"And the rest of us?" Amanda Danforth asked. "I spoke with both Mr. McAdoo and Oswald."

"Cynthia McFadden stand to my right." Hermione continued ignoring Amanda. "Ms. McFadden was passed by Mr. Macklemore as they both came down from the roof."

"And I, Diana Stevens, was seen by Mr. Ironside and Mr. Wright coming from the roof and passing them on my way to the Chevy Chase room."

Only two were left Ian Timmons and Amanda Danforth. Neither looked cowed or intimidated.

Hermione stepped to join the others then added. "Amanda Danforth, stand to my right."

Timmons glared at Ms. Stevens. "Eh! What the hell are you on about?!"

"Ms. Danforth was seen by Ms. McFadden who was passed by Mr. Macklemore. She was definitely making her way from the roof to her room. Each person behind me was described by another as having left the roof thereby easily proving each other's whereabouts at the time that the theft took place. They are each other's alibis."

"This is ridiculous! This is ... is slander!" Timmons spluttered. "I was looking for my room just like the rest of you. And I was talking with Lady Renville. You don't believe her?"

"Oh, I absolutely believe she talked to you and her doing so is immaterial." Hermione fixed him with a hard stare. "While the rest of us were on the roof you were in the Library taking the painting. For a professional it would only have taken a few minutes."

"Rubbish! What proof do you have?"

Hermione continued as if not hearing Timmons’ protests. "You left the roof early or perhaps you were never there at all. You went into the Library. By the time I came down the stairs the Library door was wide open. The rest of us were too busy walking around getting to our rooms. If anyone had at that point gone into the Library at least one person would have noticed. Logically, the theft of the charter was done before we came down from the roof by the only person who had the time - you. No one saw you descend from the roof. The only sighting is you coming into the Blue Room by Mr. Levinson long after the rest of us had scattered and reached our rooms. You, Mr. Timmons, had the opportunity. You are the thief."

Timmons scoffed. "You think you know it all, don't you? I suppose I somehow grew wings and that's how I got it up here?"

"I didn't say you brought the charter here," Hermione replied. "But you did steal it in the first place. Emily and I worked it out."

Severus taught her logic was flawless as far as the theft went. "He would have had to split himself in two, Ms. Stevens. Mr. Timmons, as I will verify and so will others, was with us tending to Sir Anthony. In fact, he left to get the first aid bag. How do you propose he got the charter up here?"

Hermione took a deep breath and looked him in the eye and replied sharply. "I have not gotten around to that yet but give me a little time. I am saying that Mr. Timmons removed the charter from the Library and that is all I am saying. Am I right, Mr. McAdoo?"

Mr. McAdoo twirled his mustache. He looked at all their curious faces. "Ms. Stevens has uncovered the thief. Mr. Timmons removed the charter while everyone was on the roof."

A smattering of applause greeted the announcement. Mr. McAdoo continued. "Well, Mr. Wright found the charter and Ms. Stevens and the Mosses have uncovered the thief. Does anyone have anything to say regarding the assault, the murder or how the charter found its way to the roof?"

No one spoke up. "Very well. Oswald bring Mr. Timmons to the Library. Each one of you will have the opportunity to ask Mr. Timmons one question. He may or may not choose to answer. I suggest you take a few minutes to think of your questions. Let us resume in the Library in fifteen minutes."


	15. She Knows

The detectives trickled into the Library. Mr. Timmons sat sullen and defiant at the head of the table. The others positioned themselves around the table. Down the left side shuffled Mr. Levinson, Mr. Ironside, Ms. Danforth, Mr. Macklemore and Ms. McFadden. On the right, Mr. Lewis, Mrs. Moss, Mr. Moss, Ms. Stevens and Mr. Wright took up their positions. Mr. McAdoo presided at the far end of the table with Oswald and the Renvilles on either side.

Mr. McAdoo cleared his throat. "As we are all now here, we may begin. You stand accused of theft, Mr. Timmons. You are guilty of that theft. The rest of the proceedings will be to decide if you are further implicated in the assault on Sir Anthony and the murder of Adam Claymore."

McAdoo eyed each of the detectives gathered about. "I will call upon each of you in turn and you may ask your question. Mr. Timmons may or may not elect to answer your question as is his right. After the answer is given, any of you may comment. If you ask a question of Mr. Timmons outside of your turn, please remember that that question will count as your one question. Mr. Lewis, we will start with you. Your question please."

Mr. Lewis drew himself straight and addressed the others. "I find it physically implausible, not impossible, that you stole the charter then attacked Sir Anthony, especially given Ms. Stevens chronology." Out of the corner of his eye, Lewis could see Ms. McFadden on the other side of the table nodding in agreement. He stared hard at Timmons. "However, it is highly probable that you did away with Claymore. Did you kill Adam Claymore?"

For a minute, Timmons held the stare but ultimately looked away. "Yes, I killed Claymore. He had it coming."

The detectives reacted to this revelation. Several scribbled notes on their pads. Others narrowed their eyes in thought. A few began to study their fellow detectives very carefully. Mr. McAdoo felt the tension rise in the room. He had to keep things moving.

"Mr. Ironside, your question."

Mr. Ironside casually sat on the edge of the table. A page of his notebook he put in front of him. It was riddled with scribbled notes and diagrams. "Your motive for killing Claymore was it because he was blackmailing you or did someone pay you to get rid of him?"

Timmons smirked. "He wanted too much of the cut. I tried to be reasonable but he was too greedy."

Mr. Lewis glared at Ironside. "That was far from subtle."

Ironside remained calm. "What's wrong with wanting to make sure? Of all of us, you had a motive for killing Claymore. For all we know the theft was just an elaborate cover up to the murder or, perhaps, they were two separate events entirely."

"If I was that obvious, do you think I would have made it very far in business?" With a last haughty glare, Lewis dismissed Ironside's unsaid accusation. "Hardly."

"Mrs. Moss, your question."

Emily Moss tapped her pencil against her cheek while looking down on her pad. "Well, can I ask two questions in one?"

Mr. McAdoo mouthed the word "No."

"I suppose someone else will ask that question." Emily looked pointedly at Ms. Stevens.

"Mr. McAdoo, I protest!" Ms. Danforth with her arms crossed and her demeanor grim looked very disagreeable indeed. "This is not fair!"

Mr. McAdoo asked "What is not fair, Ms. Danforth?"

Ms. Danforth pointed dramatically at Ms. Stevens then glanced at the Mosses. "The know-it-all and the seniors working together. It's not fair to those of us doing this solo."

"The rules allow for teams, Ms. Danforth. With a group this size, teams are not avoidable. I did encourage it, if you remember."

In Severus' estimation, Ms. Danforth went from clinging vine nuisance to spiteful hag, and that was an insult to real hags everywhere. _She can't stand the competition and so takes it out on Diana._ His inner voice urged him to put the hag in her place. For once he was in complete agreement. _To hell with staying in character_.

It was the potions master that leaned into the table and braced both arms on the table. He pinned Ms. Danforth with a menacing look. He spoke every syllable in sharp, chiseled tones. "Ms. Danforth, disparaging your fellows for using their natural born gifts is demeaning only to you."

Hermione’s thoughts were in chaos. _It IS the professor, in disguise no less. No one else sounds like THAT._ She scrutinized his profile noting the line of jaw, the lips, the nose. _I'm not wrong. I know I'm not._

Ms. Danforth had more backbone than sense. She railed back at Mr. Wright. "How dare you!"

Severus could feel Diana's gaze on him. He couldn't stop the wave of protectiveness that had welled up in him. _When did she become a cause for me to defend? When?_ "Ms. Stevens has employed logic and intelligence. She has proven her abilities as you have not."

"Hear, hear," Emily Moss murmured softly.

Hermione felt her cheeks burning. Hermione kept her hands fisted. She didn't trust them to not fling themselves around her professor's neck and kiss him senseless with gratitude. _He likes my mind! He doesn't mind I'm a know-it-all! He likes me for me!_ Her giddiness was cut short by the sobering realization that he wasn't her professor anymore. _He was just a man to you before he was a professor. The same man you've been flirting with for days. What are you going to do now?_

"I will add that what is not fair, to my mind, is using this occasion as a forum for your inadequacies." Severus straightened. He eyed Ms. Danforth as if daring her to say another word.

Mr. McAdoo had stood by watching the byplay in growing astonishment. _Ms. Stevens really has gotten under his skin, hasn't she. Good for her._ "As I have said, teamwork is permissible. Mrs. Moss has yet to ask her question. We should allow her to do so."

"Mr. Timmons, did you carry or move the charter from the Library after you took it down?"

Timmons shook his head and said "No."

At this, several team members began to converse among themselves. Mr. McAdoo smiled to himself. He liked to keep the detectives guessing. "Mr. Moss, you're next."

Mr. Moss peered at his wife's notepad. He read a question off it. "What were the precise steps taken by you after you took the charter down and you entered the Blue Room?"

Timmons shifted in his seat. He looked at Mr. McAdoo.

McAdoo said, ”You have to answer in detail, Mr. Timmons."

"I took down the charter. I rolled it up and put it in a plastic sheath. I put the roll standing up by the door on the floor." Timmons took a deep breath as if to steady his nerves. "I left the Library. I ran into Lady Renville. I had to make an excuse why I was in that part of the corridor, didn't I? So, I asked where the loo was. It was the first things I could think of. I went off in the direction she said towards the corridor running past the Armory. I walked a bit and then went to the Blue Room."

"Mr. Wright, your question."

"When you were wandering in the corridor by the Armory, did you talk with anyone?"

The others looked at Timmons intently gauging his every reaction. There was no reaction. There was no response.

"Mr. McAdoo, please clarify if a refusal to answer is a form of an answer?" Mr. Wright asked.

Mr. McAdoo nodded. This set off another round of murmuring among the detectives. "Ms. Danforth, your question."

"When you went to get the medical kit, did you stop anywhere?"

This was a quick "No."

"Mr. Macklemore, your question."

The Scotsman was thoughtful. He looked at Ms. McFadden before he asked his question. "Mr. Timmons, did you meet with your accomplice at some point from the time you procured the charter to the time that you appeared in the Blue Room?"

Timmons nodded.

Ms. McFadden flipped to a fresh page in her notebook. Mr. Lewis was barely listening. His mind seemed elsewhere.

"Ms. Stevens, your question please."

"You're a professional and professionals do their homework. The charter though valuable wasn't a well known object. It's not in a museum that you could study and make plans for." Ms. Stevens tapped her fingernails on the tabletop. The psychiatrist in her took note of his posture and silent body language. "In order to pull this job off, you had to have inside knowledge. Where did that knowledge come from?"

"The man discharged me. Afterwards I wanted to find out as much about him as I could."

She heard his response and passed judgment. He had spoken in a rush as if unsure of his answer. "You don't convince me."

"Ms. McFadden, it is your turn."

"Mr. Timmons, was your accomplice charged with moving the charter from the Library to the roof?"

Timmons swallowed and did not answer right away. Then he said "Yes."

"Our last question is for Mr. Levinson."

Timmons visibly relaxed in relief that the interrogation was almost at an end.

"I think everyone's taken my questions," said Levinson almost sheepishly. The others chuckled. “But I do have one. Did your accomplice assault Sir Anthony?"

Timmons laughed. "Needed a diversion. It worked beautifully. You should have seen yourselves milling around in a panic, like lemmings."

"Oswald, take Timmons to the constabulary. To the rest of you, the day is yours. Please be back at the hotel by tomorrow for our scheduled luncheon. Any additional information will be released at that time."

The hum of conversation in the room rose quickly as they detectives planned their next tasks or studied their notes one more time. One by one they all drifted out of the Library until only Hermione and the Mosses were left.

"Diana, John and I need to return to the hotel soon,” Emily said.

"I forgot one of my medications. Sorry to spoil our fun,” John added.

Hermione smiled at them. She rummaged in her purse. She dangled the car keys towards them. "Not a problem. Here, take the car. I'll get to the hotel later."

"Are you sure?" Emily asked.

"I have never been more sure of anything in my life, Emily. I could take the bus back. I'll work something out." Hermione placed the keys in John's hand and closed his fist over it. "Don't worry about me."

As the Mosses exited the room, Emily called out, "We'll see you at breakfast then, Diana."

Diana paused and looked around the room once. She said to herself. Her decision had been made. "I don't think you will, Emily."

In the hallway, Diana saw Oswald standing out in the main hallway. "Oswald?"

"Yes, Ms. Stevens?"

"Has Mr. Wright left the castle?"

Oswald scratched his chin. "I don't believe so. He was talking to Mr. McAdoo and he said that he was going to investigate the armory."

Hermione turned and walked fast but not too fast to the Armory room. She past the Chevy Chase room and turned left into the corridor. The corridor was packed with people - Mr. Lewis, Mr. Macklemore, Ms. McFadden and Mr. Ironside. Her quarry was, like the rest, stepping up and down the corridor. One end of the long corridor intersected with the corridor to the Chevy Chase room. On the far end, she could see another intersecting corridor. That corridor led to the Red Room. This corridor had been neglected in their investigations and now they were making up for lost time.

Hermione sidled towards David off in the far end of the hallway. She caught his eye and he waited for her to reach him. "David."

"Diana."

"Could I talk to you in private, please?"

Severus guided her down the side corridor. When they got to the Red Room, they found Mr. Levinson and Ms. Danforth inside.

"Let's try another room,” Severus said.

They turned left into the cross corridor and entered the Yellow Room. It was blissfully private. They walked inside. Severus' eyebrows rose when Hermione closed the door behind her.

He licked his lips nervously. _Stay calm. Do not jump to any conclusions._ "What did you want to speak to me about, Diana?"

Hermione said not a word. She placed her hands on his chest and slid them inch by slow inch upwards and around him. Her eyes she kept downcast until her hands locked together behind his neck. Then she raised her eyes to meet his. She planted a kiss on the tip of his nose not breaking eye contact. Severus forgot how to breath.

"I wanted to thank you for what you said about me. How you defended me.” Her lips brushed against his softly on the first pass. The second pass, she pressed more firmly deepening the kiss as the seconds ticked by.

Her tongue probed and insisted, driving away any scruples he had of being a gentleman. He parted his lips. She entered. His right hand glided downward to squeeze her firm bottom and pull her closer to him. She went unresisting. His left hand caressed her face and neck. She leaned into him, consciously placing his leg between her own. Her body undulated against his lower half seeking to get even closer to him.

After a few minutes of escalating heat, Severus broke their kiss. He had to stop, one of them had to stop. He cupped her face with both hands and said breathlessly, "You're welcome."

"Emily and John have taken the car. I'm stranded." Hermione slid her hands from his shoulder to his hands. She pulled his hands from her face. "I was hoping you would give me a ride back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"We're having dinner tonight. My treat. There must be some cozy place we could find at Marazion." Hermione released his hands and rubbed her hands against his chest. Hermione placed her palm over his heart. She could feel it beating strong and fast.

"And what about after dinner?"

She purred. "I am looking forward to your suggestions."

"Why don't I find us some place that serves an early dinner, hmm?" Severus nuzzled her neck. "That will leave us more time for dessert."

"A capital suggestion."

"I'm sure the Chymorvah has an available room." Severus mumbled. "I think another demonstration of your gratitude is necessary."

A few minutes later with swollen lips and disheveled hair, the pair stepped out of the Yellow Room arm in arm.


	16. Instruction 101

The motorcycle sped along Turnpike Road at a sedate pace, no suicidal dash for him this time. Severus reminded himself yet again to concentrate on the road. Diana's arms around his waist and her legs continuously brushing against his thighs were proving to be quite distracting. In the face of the whipping wind, he smiled. _I had her seduction all planned. Then she turns the tables on me. Perhaps, muggle women do things differently._ Severus shifted gear and accelerated. He could see the hotel in the distance.

Hermione's thighs instinctively squeezed against his legs as she felt and heard the motorcycle growl louder. He had insisted that she wear the helmet though he himself went bare-headed. Inside, with the noise of the road and the cycle muffled, she was alone with her thoughts. You have to tell him, her conscience insisted. A part of her wanted to continue the playacting, the fantasy. _Not yet. I want to know more about him. He's so different from what I remember._ You are not thinking with your head, her conscience retorted. _Absolutely not! Instinct all the way!_ Her conscience was stubborn. She dismissed its last comment - you have a tiger by the tail, a dark one, with very sharp teeth, beware.

* * *

Seated for a late luncheon at an elegant table with a clear view of St. Michael's Mount, Severus and Hermione finished giving their order to the waiter. The restaurant of the Mount Haven Hotel boasted delicious local fare and the menu had not disappointed.

Severus sipped his wine and fought down the nervous flutters in his stomach. Until he had registered for a room under his real name, while Diana was freshening up, he had treated the whole thing as a lark, part of his annual mystery vacation. This year he had the mystery, the vacation and Diana. He knew how to handle the first two well enough. Diana was a different matter altogether.

"So, you know I'm a teacher. What do you do?" Severus began.

"In real life, I'm a psychologist at a large hospital."

"London?"

"Thereabouts. I do freelance consulting when I'm asked."

"Do you like what you do?"

"It's challenging. Every day is different. Every patient is different."

Severus noted the light that came to her eyes when she began discussing her work. Her passion for it was obvious. "What drew you to that profession?"

"My parents are dentists so I was around medical types my whole life. I developed an aversion to the sound of the drill so dentistry was out."

Severus laughed softly. He had gone to get his teeth cleaned before the event. He could sympathize about the drill.

"After leaving Ho-, er, school. I went to university and tried a million different majors. Healing people's minds was very appealing to me."

_Healing people's minds? I didn't realize muggles saw it that way._ "It sounds very demanding."

Hermione smiled at him. "Oh, it is demanding but rewarding, too. It may take months to help a patient but when he's cured and healthy again, it's the best feeling in the world. I imagine you would feel the same way when you see your students succeed."

Severus was saved from making a response by the arrival of their appetizers. "I don't teach at the university level, so the ... the criteria of success is different."

"True but the teaching, the imparting of knowledge, isn't that rewarding in its own sense?"

"You don't know the students I get," Severus chuckled. "I get them when they are very young about eleven. They shuffle through their years at the school, learning enough to finish, then they go off to start their adult life. How successful they become I don't know."

"You don't get letters about their progress?"

"Now, tell me, Diana, how many teachers do you correspond with after you leave school, any kind of school? Hmm?" Severus stirred his soup. "In all the excitement one feels being at university, does one remember where they came from, who they left behind?"

Hermione had the grace to be embarrassed. "One. I still write to my favorite teacher."

"That teacher is very fortunate and I am sure he or she appreciates your letters more than you know."

"You don't meet any of your former students?"

"No. Not in any social context. Besides, I have had hundreds of students I don't know if I could recognize one after a few years out of school."

"Out of sight, out of mind."

"Exactly."

The conversation lulled for a while as they enjoyed their appetizers. Capering about St. Michael earlier in the day had given Hermione quite an appetite. Severus wondered more and more about Diana Stevens. She had a knack for turning the conversation away from her and back to him.

Severus tried a different tack. _Subtlety, boy. She's a mind healer. She's probably psychoanalyzing you._ "How are you finding the mystery so far?"

"Not what I expected."

"Too mundane, unimaginative?"

Hermione laughed. "No! Definitely not!"

Severus gave her what he hoped was an open, pleasant expression. One to invite confidences not repel them.

Hermione leaned back against her chair and gathered her thoughts. "My parents gave me this as a birthday gift last year, my twenty third. I kept putting it off. This year I decided to take it."

_Twenty-four! I'm almost twice her age!_

"Work has been brutal. I just got promoted to assistant head of the department." Hermione sighed. "My superior threatened a forced vacation if I didn't take one voluntarily. I was driving everyone around me crazy. So here I am."

"Twenty-four. That's ah, er, quite unusual for a head of a department. You carry yourself as someone much older."

"I'm a classic overachiever."

"Obviously.” Severus took a healthy drink.

"My age bothers you. I can see it does." Hermione pushed her plate away. "Am I too young? Maybe you think I'm too close to being a student."

Severus took a minute before answering. "If there's an age problem, it's mine. I'll be forty-five this year. And I don't see you as my student. You're obviously an adult."

Hermione swallowed. "Let's say hypothetically, that I was one of your students, would you have a problem with that, with us?"

"I don't believe I would. It's not as if you were fresh out of the school room. You've lived an adult life and know your own mind."

The waiter arrived with their main course. They had both opted for pasta and salads.

As soon as they had some privacy again, Severus resumed, "And what about me, Diana? I find it hard to believe that you would be lacking for companionship."

"My work has always been first for me. I'm not entirely anti-social but wild parties or bars are not my style." Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him. "And everyone who knows me can attest to my preference for older men."

Severus felt insensibly cheered by that comment. He tucked into his house salad with gusto.

His renewed enthusiasm did not go unnoticed. "Emily informed me that she had heard you were a regular at these events. Why do you do this?"

"Isn't being a teacher a kind of role?" Severus wiped his mouth. "When I'm in the classroom, I am the students' teacher. I'm not their parent, their friend or anything else but their teacher. I have to maintain an environment for them to learn and that includes discipline. If I behaved as their friend, I doubt that I could do my job correctly."

"I never thought of it that way,” Hermione replied.

"My superior introduced me to these events. He actually forced me to attend my first event. I fought against it but in the end I capitulated."

"And you found you liked it?"

"I found that it's a kind of relaxation for me. Being another person I mean."

"A form of escape. Taking on a persona for a temporary period of time."

Severus nodded. He looked up when Hermione started laughing.

"You're playing!"

"I beg your pardon? I take this very seriously. My preparations are very thorough."

"The higher the intelligence, the higher the need for play. Through play, one can free the conscious mind and thereby reach a form of relaxation."

"I suppose that could said to be true,” Severus admitted grudgingly.

"Our normal lives are so intense, full of expectations and pressures, that the only way to cope is to have these ... these getaways from reality."

_She did it again turning the conversation back to me. She's very good._ "So, all this is just playacting for you as well?”

Hermione sensed his change in mood. "It was. It's not anymore."

Severus smiled. "Long term signal received."

The rest of dinner passed in good company. They found many things in common and few differences. After dessert, it seemed the most natural thing to lock hands and go up to their suite and continue their evening in private.

* * *

Severus loosened the buttons on his shirt while he slipped out of his shoes. He could hear Diana splashing about in the shower. He had tried to elicit information about her real self during dinner. She had deflected all his carefully worded questions. _She's keeping to the rules of the mystery, to the letter. Minx._

Off his shirt went. Severus caught his reflection in the mirror. His salon-acquired tan was paling but only just. He had lost a few pounds with all the mystery activity. _Not young but not old either. It will have to do._

Off went his trousers. _She'll either like what she sees or not._ Off went his boxers. _No better time to find out than the present._ Off went the socks.

Severus padded to the bathroom. The room was hot, misty with steam. He paused in the open doorway observing the very feminine silhouette Diana presented against the sheer shower curtain. His body reacted. How could it not? Severus stepped into the bathroom then slipped into the shower behind Diana. "Need help?"

Her body glistened wet. Soap bubbles slid down the curves and planes of her back. He bowed his head to kiss her shoulder. "If you don't want this, Diana, tell me now."

Her arms reached behind her seeking him. They twined around his neck and head. She leaned against him. "I want you."

With a grateful sigh, he cast his doubts to the past and concentrated on the present. He placed his hands under her arms and trailed his fingers in the bubbles' wake. "Any specific requests?"

"There are some areas needing more attention than others." She swayed her hips teasing the desire, his desire, that pressed insistently against her back.

"Then I shall proceed when ready." He nipped her earlobe playfully.

"I thought you were ... very ready."

With one hand lathering her inner thigh and the other hand on her belly keeping her still against him, he whispered. "Remember, what I said about the finer pleasures?"

"Y - y - yes." His thumb grazed, barely, that part of her that pleaded for his immediate attention. Her legs parted wider on their own accord. Her invitation was clear.

Her invitation was ignored. "How long did I say I charged for?"

"Hours," Her fingernails raked across his buttocks. "I ... I also said I was hard to please."

Severus turned her around in his arms. He found her lips with his. He kept the kiss light, not giving in to her demands for more. He dropped kisses on her shoulder, her breast and her navel as he dropped to his knees. His hands cupped her rear. He looked up at her. "I believe it is time for Finer Pleasures 101 to begin instruction."

Hermione gasped as she was lifted high and pressed against the tiled wall. Her thighs lay splayed on his shoulders. Her hands grappled for something to hold on to, to clasp tightly. There was nothing to hold on to as she felt the first nudge probing into her. Flick. Lave. Jab. Suckle. Thrust. She arched her back and surrendered.

The water drizzled down on them. More steam fogged the mirrors. Her whimpers gave way to moans. Their night had only begun.

* * *

Hermione woke up. Next to her Severus was twisting in his sleep. His movements woke her. She turned on her side. She smoothed down his hair and crooned, "A bad dream? Shush, you're safe, go back to sleep."

As a psychologist she knew the right things to say. As a woman, she knew the right things to do. She put an arm around him and stroked his shoulder and arms. Her gentle touch lulled him back to a deep slumber.

She watched him sleep. She fingered a strand of his fair hair. _He's had it colored like I did. This is a nice change but I prefer the long dark hair._ Her lips and hands had felt and explored his body earlier no less than he had hers. She had kissed his fingertips and hands. She had stroked, fondled and caressed him. She had reveled in their passion but never once had she called out his name, not David, not Severus. Severus had said her name again and again.

_I'll tell him tomorrow. I'll tell him everything._


	17. Turnabout

Severus glanced at Diana to make sure she was still sleeping. He read the instructions on the card by the phone carefully. Press 5 for Room Service. His finger stabbed at the middle button. As the phone rang, he moved as far from the bed as he could with the phone pressed to his ear. He kept his voice low. "Yes, this is room 2B. I'd like to order breakfast for two to be brought up please. Whatever normal breakfast is will be fine." He hung up the phone after confirming the order.

He moved to the bed and covered Diana's bare form with a blanket. He brushed a strand of loose dark hair and tucked it behind her ear. He had found out last night that her natural hair was a light brown shade. _Brown complements her skin better._ That's not all you found out said his inner voice. _I learned enough._ Yes, enough to be very suspicious, the voice replied. _She's playing the game and the part. I can understand her refusal to answer too many questions. A little mystery is unusual in a woman and very arousing._

The woman stirred and opened her eyes. A lazy smile danced across her lips. "Morning." She stretched her arms out shifting the blanket downward. Her breast were barely covered.

"I've ordered breakfast for two."

"I have a taste for a different kind of breakfast." One hand lowered her blanket a few more inches.

"I'd love nothing better than to indulge your insatiable appetite, minx, but we need an early start back."

Hermione touched the stubble on his chin. "You look quite dangerous this morning. Darker hair suits you."

"You like it?"

"Hmm, yes." Hermione found her hand wandering inside his robe. "That and a few other things of yours."

Before her skillful fingers could find their intended target, Severus moved away from the bed. "I'm going to take a shower and have a shave. Wait for room service will you?"

Twenty minutes later, Hermione laid out their breakfast. Severus came out of the bathroom. "Shower's yours, Diana."

"Breakfast is here." Hermione past him by and went into the bathroom. "I'll be quick."

"Coffee or tea?"

Her response was muffled but audible, "Coffee, no cream, a bit of sugar."

Severus began to pour her coffee when there was a knock at the door. He opened the door to a hotel employee. "Sir, excuse me, I brought in your breakfast. The lady had some foreign currency mixed in with my tip. Here you are, sir, and good day." A few coins landed in Severus' outstretched hand - two sickles and a knut.

Severus stared at the coins. His other hand closed the door. He walked back to the table and collapsed into a chair. His eyes darted from the coins in his hand to the closed bathroom door. _A witch. A ruddy, bloody witch._

He stood on shaky legs and brought his tea to his lips. The hot liquid seared his tongue and sharpened his mind. He stared out at the magnificent view of the bay and the Mount. _Who is she? She plays a muggle too well. He replayed her every word and gesture. A muggle-born. A twenty-four year old muggle born witch. Someone brilliant, clever, driven._

An image flashed. A hand raised eagerly into the air. A hopeful face framed by brown hair. Another image superimposed itself over the first. A dark-haired woman with a raised hand. Ms. Danforth's hand pointed at the "know-it-all." He dug his fists into the pockets of his robe. He calculated the years and the answer was not to his liking. _I just bedded Hermione Granger._

He took another drink. _I have to end this. She can't find out who I am._

He put down the cup and practically ran to the mirror. He looked hard at his reflection. _Thank Merlin, I look different. I look nothing like ..._

He remembered her question last night - "Let's say hypothetically, that I WAS one of your students, would you have a problem with that, with us?"

_She knew who I was. She knew all along and she didn't tell me. Was she ever going to tell me?_ The realization paralyzed him briefly. He didn't notice the bathroom door opening.

"The coffee smells good." Hermione reached up and kissed him on the cheek. She noticed his lack of reaction. "Something wrong?"

Severus looked at her closely. He could see the outline of her contact lenses. His mind's eye framed the face in brown instead of black. The shape of the face and eyes were the same. _My own real life minx. I keep underestimating you but no more. You need to learn not to play with fire._ "Nothing's wrong. Everything is fine, Diana, just fine."

As they demolished breakfast, Severus planned her downfall. _She is going to have to beg me first._

* * *

On the way back to Newquay, Hermione debated endlessly with herself. Had he been any other man than Severus Snape, he of the volatile temper and lacerating tongue, she wouldn't hesitate telling him. But he was who he was and she was who she was. _I need to have my wand before I tell him. Yes, and a ready spell, too, just in case._

In front of her, Severus hummed a tuneless tune pondering the nature of revenge and how best to serve it. He had to talk with Mr. McAdoo first. Then he could step back and watch the minx squirm. _Turnabout is only fair._

They arrived barely in time to make the luncheon. After a quick change of clothes, they joined the other detectives.

As luncheon got underway, Mr. McAdoo went over the list of clues unearthed by all the detectives. As he described the last clue, Mr. Levinson stood up. "Mr. McAdoo, I never mentioned my clue."

That got everyone's attention. "What clue would that be, Mr. Levinson?"

"In my room assignment, the Green Room, I saw a photograph. It was a picture, a university picture, of four young men. One of them looked like a much younger Macklemore." He and everyone else turned to look at Mr. Macklemore.

"I went to Edinburgh University,” said a visibly confused Mr. Macklemore.

"Not Cambridge?" asked Mr. Levinson. "One of the shirts said Cambridge on it."

"Ah, I attended a short course there for computational theory."

"One of the men in the photo looked like Sir Anthony, maybe his son."

"Renville? Maybe, I really don't remember much about that."

"Are you sure?" Ms. McFadden looked at him uncertainly.

"I don't remember, Cynthia,” Macklemore repeated. "It was a long time ago."

"Why didn't you mention this before?" asked Emily Moss. "I was there in the room with you."

"I didn't think it was important,” Mr. Levinson replied.

"If no one else has anything to mention, Oswald will be distributing among you Mr. Timmons' statement to the police. We also have statements from the hotel staff. They were re-questioned to corroborate Mr. Timmons' statement and their statements may be of interest to you all." Mr. McAdoo nodded to Oswald. "At three o'clock today, we will gather in the main parlor where there will be a last round of question and answer."

Mr. Lewis commented loudly, "Can we question anyone we want, even you?"

"Yes, of course, Mr. Lewis. The Renvilles will be here for the session as well as Mrs. Welborn and Oswald."

After lunch, Hermione looked everywhere for Severus but couldn't find him. As she sat in a comfortable armchair, she saw him come in and take a chair by the door. She smiled shyly at him. He nodded back. A few minutes later Mr. McAdoo came in with the Renvilles and Oswald in tow. He clapped his hands once to get everyone's attention.

"I have an announcement to make to you all. One of your number has excused himself from the rest of the event." Mr. McAdoo tapped Severus' shoulder. "Mr. Wright, here, has been acting as an observer of the rest of you at my request. There were so many first time participants that I needed someone to help move things along. Mr. Wright, or rather Mr. David Sherbrooke, gracefully accommodated my request."

Hermione stared slack-jawed. _Sherbrooke?! I went to bed with a total stranger._

Severus watched with silent glee as Hermione processed the information. _The look on her face. Oh, how the mighty have fallen._

Mr. McAdoo droned on. "I am assuming that you have all read the new information and have your questions ready. Who would like to begin?"

Hermione was oblivious to the goings-on around her. _Oh, damnation, a muggle not my Professor. How stupid can I be?_

Ms. McFadden raised her hand. "I'd like to start first."

She looked everywhere except at David. _We used a condom, every time. Why did I think it quaint that he was trying to be true to character?!_

Mr. McAdoo nodded and Ms. McFadden continued on. "My question is for Ms. Danforth. Your bio says that you're a nurse. You should have been tending to Sir Anthony instead of me. Why didn't you?"

Hermione stared at the floor to avoid David who was visibly trying to catch her attention. _He's smiling at me._

Ms. Danforth looked bored. "When I got there, you were already there. What would have been the point? You knew what you were doing didn't you and you're NOT supposed to."

Ms. McFadden narrowed her eyes at the spiteful viper. "Old habits die hard I guess."

Mr. Moss noted. "I don't remember seeing you inside the Red Room, Ms. Danforth."

_Oh, god, he's ... he's going to want to see me again. He said he was in this for the long term and I did say I was too. Ack!_

"Of course I was there. I was outside talking to Mr. Wright. Ask him."

Severus spoke very carefully making sure to not sound like his real self too much. "I went to look for Timmons. He was taking too long to come back. I saw Ms. Danforth standing outside the Red Room. We chatted."

Hermione strained her ears listening to every nuance and syllable. _Chatted? Snape would never use that word._

"Wright, you didn't go out immediately. I remember we both went in together. We watched Ms. McFadden for quite a while,” said Mr. Ironside.

"Sir Anthony was being tended to for what five minutes or more?" Mr. Lewis asked.

Mr. Macklemore nodded his head. "Aye. at least."

"I agree with that. I think more than five minutes actually,” Severus answered. He made sure to vary his cadence, a little faster than his normal pattern.

Hermione came to the hard realization that David may resemble Snape but really didn't sound anything like him. _You've made some huge mistakes, Granger, but nothing is going to top this one._

Mr. Lewis looked at Oswald and Mr. McAdoo. "Which of you let Ms. Danforth into the Armory."

"I did,” Oswald answered.

"About what time was that?"

She nibbled on her nails as she was wont to do when truly agitated. _No one, no one must ever hear of this, ever. I will never live this down._

Severus noticed Hermione fidgeting and biting her nails. _Now to twist the knife gently but firmly._ He aimed a toothy smile in her direction followed by a small wave.

"Let's see it was about ten minutes, maybe more, after everyone left the roof."

"Really, how interesting,” Mr. Lewis said. "What were your exact steps from the roof?"

Hermione blanched as she half-heartedly smiled back. It was more for politeness' sake really. _I am never ever crossing paths with Severus Snape again. I couldn't bear the reminder. Thank the gods he doesn't know who I really am._

"I gave Mr. Levinson his directions. Then I went down the stairs."

"So, almost everyone was already in their rooms by then, would you say that's about right?" Mr. Ironside asked shrewdly.

Oswald nodded.

"Was the Armory door locked?" Emily Moss asked.

"It seemed to be stuck, hard to open."

Ms. Danforth stood up angrily. She glared at Ironside and Lewis. "I told you all that Claymore wouldn't let me in. I kept knocking and knocking."

Hermione had wiped out the mystery from her immediate consciousness. She had more pressing matters to think about. _What a mess! How soon can I leave?_

Mr. Macklemore and Ms. McFadden both raised their hand at the same time. "Bruce and I know who the accomplice is."

Mr. McAdoo calmly asked, "Who is the accomplice, Ms. McFadden?"

"Ms. Danforth is the accomplice."

"You're joking. What proof do you have?" said an outraged Ms. Danforth.

"Mr. Timmons wasn't the only one who had time on his hands. We only have your word on what you did when you went to the Armory." said Ms. McFadden. "You waited until Sir Anthony was in the Red Room. You picked your chance and hit him on the head with the book then returned to the Armory."

Mr. Macklemore continued, "When we all made our way to the Red Room after hearing Lady Renville, you took the rolled up charter and put it up in the roof. The hallway from the Library to the roof was clear."

"Ridiculous!"

"In fact, we were so busy making our way to the Red Room and there was so much confusion, that no one noticed you go into the Library,” said Ms. McFadden. "Except Mr. Claymore."

"He would have noticed because he left the Armory with you and went into the main corridor,” Mr. Macklemore added. "Timmons said that he had left the charter right by the door. It would have taken a minute or less to reach in and grab it. After you came from the roof, you made an appearance outside the Red Room to establish your presence in the vicinity."

"Because of those reasons, Ms. Danforth is the likeliest accomplice." Ms. McFadden concluded. "What's the verdict, Mr. McAdoo?"

"You're absolutely correct. Ms. Danforth was Mr. Timmons’ accomplice." Mr. McAdoo took a deep breath and then smiled. "Ladies and gentlemen, the charter has been recovered, the thief in custody, the murderer also in custody and now, the accomplice identified. This mystery event has been solved in record time. I surely thought it would take at least five days. I congratulate all of you on a job well done. I must make these things harder."

The room erupted in a flurry of cheers and congratulations. Ms. Danforth was complimented for her performance.

Mr. McAdoo called out, “We will be having a celebratory dinner tomorrow. Thank you everyone."

Hermione bounded out of her chair and made her escape. She went straight to her room. She had some packing to do. In her haste, she did not see or become aware of Severus shadowing her every move from a distance.

Severus strolled back into the parlor. Mr. McAdoo had under some pressure confirmed Ms. Granger's identity. _Run all you like, minx. You haven't seen the last of me._


	18. What Happens Next

Dr. Hermione Granger stepped out of her office ready to start the day. It had been a week since she came back from her vacation. Every morning, she thanked every deity she could think of that she had emerged from the escapade still unattached and very much the wiser. _I've had my fantasy indulgence. No more mystery weekends, no more men of mystery period._ And no more living, added her inner voice. _For a while there you lived passionately, fully, dangerously. What's ahead in your future now - neurotic patients, demanding administrators and a good book to fall asleep to. Oh, joy! Oh, bliss!_

Hermione ignored the voice completely. It had been making the same pithy comments since she came back. _I'm not taking any more risks. Every date is going to be screened, interviewed and subjected to veritaserum. Note to self, make batch of veritaserum next weekend._

Where's the spontaneity in that, the voice whined and pointed out that veritaserum use was illegal. Hermione crossed off her first note and added another. _Note to self, demand to meet parents first before sex of any form. No exceptions._

Romance is dead, the voice droned on. _There is a David out there just waiting to be found._ Hermione had had enough. She took herself to the most raucous ward in the hospital. Perhaps, there she could get some inner peace.

* * *

Severus found himself pacing in the lobby of St. Mungo's. Well, he was mentally pacing while standing off to the side dithering. He had spent the week at his townhouse replaying the events of the previous week again and again. He had too many questions and too few answers. The one with his answers was somewhere in the vast hospital. At the moment, he wasn't quite sure if he should see her.

His anger had subsided and sanity returned, if half-hearted. She had fled the hotel that very night after his prank. Call it for what it is, his inner voice admonished, a childish prank. _She hurt your pride nothing more. But you certainly hurt her._ Severus remembered her face when first she realized she had been wrong. Her reaction had been too naked to have been feigned. He hadn't seen the hurt, the bewilderment not then obsessed as he was in putting one over her. He was no better than a child.

_Go on and explain yourself. Ask her for the truth and accept what comes._

* * *

Hermione battled the pile of paperwork that had accumulated on her desk during her vacation. Paperwork was proving a better distraction than loud patients. Absentmindedly, she said "Enter" when a knock sounded. She hadn't yet looked up when she heard a voice say "Dr. Granger, I presume?"

Her head snapped upward. She stood up too quickly. Her chair fell behind her with a bang. There he stood in his black robes and forbidding exterior. "Professor Snape!"

Severus inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I will not be staying long, Dr. Granger. I only came to return something that rightly belongs to you."

Severus drew a small envelope from inside his robes. With great deliberation, he opened the envelope and let fall its contents on to her desk - two sickles and one knut.

"I don't understand, Professor."

"Neither do I." Severus pushed the coins towards her. "These were mixed in with the tip you left the wait staff who brought our breakfast. Perhaps you were still half asleep and didn't quite know what you were doing."

Hermione bit her lip. She tried to look away and couldn't. She remembered pulling herself out of their warm bed reluctantly to answer the door. Had she pulled some bill and coins from her purse? Yes, yes, she had. Quite careless of her. Her mind had been on other things.

"I had my suspicions. When we got back to the hotel, I asked then forced Mr. McAdoo to confirm my suspicions. He did."

"That last bit about Sherbrooke, that was all just an act wasn't it?"

Severus smirked. "I wanted to teach you a lesson, to make you feel the same as I had. You were mortified, embarrassed and angry all at the same time. It was highly amusing to watch."

Hermione straightened feeling some of her old spirit coming back. _The cold bastard!_ Her eyes flashed. "Then we're even. I didn't tell you and you didn't tell me. We both had our fun, didn't we? Now get out of my office."

Severus tipped her chin up and held her gaze. "Why didn't you tell me? I deserve an answer at least."

Her words came out in a rush. "I was afraid. Afraid of what you would say, what you would do. You terrorized me for seven years. How else was I supposed to think you would react? I was motivating myself to tell you on our way back."

Severus released her chin and pulled back. _True. What could I expect her to think?_ "I was certain that I was being made a fool of."

"So, you thought to make a fool out of me?"

"Yes, Dr. Granger, I did."

"I must have looked awful." Hermione looked at him. "I felt awful."

"Please accept my apology. It was done in haste and anger."

"I'm very sorry, too, professor. I wish ... I wish things had been different, done differently."

An awkward silence stretched between them. What was there left to say, Severus thought. Ask her, his inner voice prodded. _Take the risk, ask her._

"Well, Diana and David had their interlude. I have no regrets. I hope you have none." Severus breathed deeply before continuing. "I need to know something and I will understand if you do not answer. I just need to know. Were you pretending the entire time, from the beginning to the end?"

Hermione was shocked and could not speak. He mistook her silence as her response. Severus drew his robes about him and made to leave. "I've disturbed you long enough, Dr. Granger. I have to return to Hogwarts and prepare for the new term."

Hermione laid a hand on his arm stopping him. "Diana left for good when I found out who you were. Tell me, were you always David, never Severus, ever? Not even when we-"

Severus placed a finger on her lips. "I was Severus when we were intimate that much I will say and no more."

"I was most afraid that Severus wouldn't give me a chance as me, plain Hermione, former student. But as long as you thought I was Diana, I could be with you."

Severus could not speak instead he traced her lips and looked into her eyes. _She didn't mean what I thought she meant_. "You would be amenable to a continuation of this situation, Hermione?"

Hermione slid her arms around his waist. The man can be so thick. "Yes, Severus, I would, very much. Let's change situation to relationship, can we do that?"

Severus murmured an affirmative while nuzzling her neck. "You realize that David will be banished to outer Mongolia and you will be stuck with ill-tempered, ungracious Severus, for a very long time, perhaps for life."

"I don't know about the for life part, yet, but I wouldn't mind having you all to myself for now." Hermione leaned her head back. "Does David have to be banished? He was quite distracting."

"I am willing to make a few adjustments for you in private,” Severus swooped down to seal their bargain with a kiss.

The door to Dr. Granger's office remained locked for the rest of the day. In fact, Dr. Granger did a most unheard of thing, she took the rest of the day off.

* * *

In June of the next year at townhouse number 333, a woman waited impatiently for her new husband to return. They were due to go on their honeymoon but they still did not know where that would be. Her husband came in ripping open a letter.

"Well?" Hermione asked.

"We are off to Shrewsbury, staying at the Albrighton Hall Hotel for the duration."

"And who are we to be?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Albert Pennington, rich industrialist and trophy wife."

Hermione read over his shoulder. "Oversexed blonde?! I am not coloring my hair again!"

Severus pulled at a strand of her hair. "Pity. I was fantasizing about cavorting with a statuesque blonde this time out."

"You've been giving Mr. McAdoo hints haven't you, Severus?"

"Maybe a word here and there."

Hermione maneuvered herself on to his lap. "I'll make our travel arrangement tomorrow. In the meantime, I think we ought to start our research."

Severus swept a hand down her thigh. "Did you have any specific topic in mind?"

"The marital relations of Mr. and Mrs. Pennington. Is it a real marriage or an arrangement? Passion or duty?“

"A good topic to start with. I agree."

Severus lifted her into his arms. As they ascended the stairs, Hermione read off the couple's bio. "Virile but secretive, wealthy older man blind to the devious nature of his much, much younger wife, who was a former madam."

"How young are you, Mrs. Pennington?"

"A woman never tells, Mr. Pennington."

* * *

Let us end this tale where it began, in a postal office with a very common post box - Number 696. The box still sat empty most of the year but it was not so rarely visited anymore. Twice a year, a cleaning spell was cast upon it leaving it shiny and gleaming all year long. Once a year, it became the most important thing to the two people it inadvertently brought together.

To all they seemed an unlikely pair in every way, the compassionate mind doctor and the acerbic professor. How could he, how could she, the whispers ran. To this day, their secret vice is held close to their hearts, never betrayed by face or word. But in the comforting dark, they reminisce and plan for the next year.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go. A very different HG/SS story and plausible despite being very out of canon now. Like it or not, let me know. You know how.

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted a first draft on FFN in 2004. Here is the better edited version with no changes to plot or clues. There are real mystery events like this where the attendees interact with actors and other guests as part of the story line and mystery. Happy Reading!


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